


Someday

by laurpas



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Positive, Angst, Antiva, BUT IT WILL BE HAPPY, Enemies to Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Revolution, a lot of shit happens, after like, endgame fenders, ft. Rialto as Venice, jerk!Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 100,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurpas/pseuds/laurpas
Summary: In the wake of his decision to leave Hawke Fenris finds an unexpected companionship in the apostate, Anders.But things are never so simple or easy and one night destroys whatever hope of happiness they might have found in each other. Alone, Anders is drawn deeper and deeper into the demands of Justice and his cause and his actions will have reverberations across Thedas......And within the heart of Antiva.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love The Beach Boys.  
> "But, laurpas, they're just a silly surf band from the olden days!"  
> You're a fool, but I forgive you.  
> Their album "Pet Sounds" is one of my favorite albums of all time and this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_-qepkPAlI) is probably one of my favorites (and still makes me want to cry.) Listening to it one day it gave me the idea for a short, angsty little fic where Anders has loved Fenris from afar while Fenris stays with a Hawke that doesn't treat him as well as he deserves. And then that fic grew... And grew... 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I love comments, kudos and smoke signals. And, of course, you the reader.

  The wrongness of it all buffeted him from every side. He tried to walk steadily, despite how every instinct in him howled for him to run. Every time he felt a muscle twitch he clenched his hands or bit his cheek. The brightness of the pain, the bitter taste of the blood, was enough to calm him briefly. Enough that he did not stumble down the stairs he had found and break his neck.

   It had all been a mistake. He had thought himself good enough, but that was not true, was never going to be true. He had lied to himself for far too long and he deserved the splash of cold water to the face that he had received.

  Hawke was correct. He may have no longer worn chains, but he was not _ free _ .

  Her words played on a endless loop in his head, forcing him down, down the stairs and into what appeared to be a basement. He knew not where he was going, only that he had needed to leave, to be away from the softness of her bed and her little jokes that were spokenly pleasantly enough but which stung like needles. 

  No, the blame laid not with her but squarely at his own feet and it was dishonest of him to pretend otherwise. Had he been any other man he might have been able to return to her side, might have loved her again. Would not have been tormented by these fragments of his own past. 

  He felt like a starving dog that had been given crumbs and then a smack to the face for daring to lap at them.

  The basement around him was dark and cloaked in a heavy layer of dust. At the end of a long, twisting hallway he thought he could make out the faint outline of a door and he began to move towards it, carefully stepping around the broken glass and other detritus which littered the floor. He could hear noise beyond it faintly and focusing on it seemed to help force some of his other, raging emotions to the side. 

  A doorknob appeared, brass, shining dully in the low light. Settling one clawed gauntlet on it he turned it and twisted, pushing open the door and revealing…

  The mage’s clinic.

  He blinked and then took a long moment to try to orient himself. The Darktown Clinic somehow… Connected to Hawke’s mansion? He took one hesitant step into it, and then another, frowning heavily. Did Hawke know of this? The passageway had not looked recently used but the opened crates and half-empty bottles suggested that it had once been inhabited.

  It was empty at this time of night, or at least nearly empty. As his eyes scanned the small room they eventually settled on a person hunched over a desk scattered with papers, breathing quietly.

  Anders. Fenris sniffed and his frown turned into a grimace. He would leave out the front door of the clinic immediately, before he had a chance to wake the man up. The past was far too close tonight for him to be able to handle one of the mage’s arguments about the Circles being a kind of slavery. 

  He moved quickly across the room and was nearly to the door when he heard something solid hit the ground behind him and a low voice boomed, 

   “What are you doing-” The voice changed, cracking a little as it returned to its higher, normal state, “Fenris?”

  Slowly the elf closed his eyes, trying to give himself a moment before he opened them again and turned to face the mage. 

  “Is someone hurt?” Anders’ face was twisted in confusion but he quickly began a visual assessment of Fenris. It made something in Fenris burn, something stronger than the irritation or resentment that he usually felt around the man.

  “No,” he said,  _ Yes _ . “I was just… Leaving.”

  Anders merely stared at him, already thin eyes narrowing further. “Leaving?” The suspicion in his voice was heavy and Fenris might have been amused by the way his eyes darted around warily were it not for the sick feeling in his stomach.

  He just wanted to be in the decrepit, rotting mansion he called home. He wanted to be alone, to lick his wounds in peace. 

  “Did you… Come from Hawke’s? Through the passageway?”

  “How do you know of it?” Fenris asked, startled.

  “Hawke gave me a key to it, said if I ever needed to avoid Templars I could use the passageway-” His eyes slid to the side as he continued, “Said she’d be shit out of luck if she lost her only healer.”

  Fenris knew that Anders and Hawke rarely saw eye to eye. Why the mage insisted on following her around he did not fully understand, but he seemed almost… Hurt.

  No. He was not here to feel unfounded sympathy for this man. He had made his bed, and he should be forced to lie in it.

  “Anyway,” Anders continued, looking back at Fenris and giving him a grim little smile, “I hope she’s treating you well.”

  “Excuse me?” He could not have possibly heard the mage correctly, Anders couldn’t know-

  “You,” Anders said, “And Hawke.” He made a little motion with his hand and then frowned, dropping it when Fenris continued to stare at him blankly. “Forget it.”

  Fenris went stiff and then forced himself to relax again.

  “That is done,” he said and watched as Anders’ mouth dropped open slightly. Once, he had angrily suggested that the man would be happier in Tevinter but it was clear he didn’t have the heart or the guile to survive in such a place.

  “I am-” Anders started, face twisted into something that looked like sympathy and made Fenris want to seethe, “We aren’t really friends, I know, but…”

  “Cease,” Fenris said, suddenly defensive, “I do not want your pity.”

  “I only meant to- Whatever, go,” he made a shooing motion, “I’ve kept you long enough.”

  “Indeed,” Fenris barely kept his words from turning into a snarl, instead settling for curt. He turned on his heel quickly then, wrenching open the door and stepping out into the perpetual gloom of Darktown. 

  He moved quickly, as if he might yet learn to outrun his thoughts. But they remained doggedly at his heels: flashes of Hawke and her jokes, Hadriana and her sneers, Anders and his pity, and all those fragments of memories that he had grasped just hours before. 

  He picked up his pace, faster and faster, and then moved into a run.

 

 

  Anders closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, finding the leather thong that tied it back and loosening it. He let his hair down, though given how long it’d been since he had washed it it no longer moved much. Frowning he rolled his neck, though it did little to bring relief. 

  He… Had known about Fenris and Hawke. It would have been easy to ignore the way Fenris’ eyes always seemed to follow after Hawke, like some sad little dog. But Hawke was always so obvious, her jokes crude and her leers moreso. 

  Fenris deserved better. Better than Isabela or Hawke. Once Anders might have believed himself to be good enough but he knew that to be false. 

  No, he… He was alone and that was better, frankly, for everyone. He didn't need to burden anyone else with his problems, Fenris especially. It hurt, but whenever the lurch in his chest grew to be to much to bear he always buried himself in his work until it eased again.

  Though the man was a former slave it was obvious to Anders that he still sometimes felt the cool heaviness of chains around his wrists. Just the thought of manacles had Anders rubbing at his wrists in empathy, though he knew that Fenris would not have appreciated his thoughts.

  He had tried to connect with the man, tried to show the common ground that they had shared. Slaves, the both of them, merely to different institutions.

  But either he’d willfully misunderstood him or Anders had never explained well enough. No, the mage knew, in his heart, who was to blame for their continued antagonism. Perhaps if Anders told Fenris his own stories, the things that he himself had witnessed- But his cause had always been about principle, about  _ others _ . To divulge his own history risked making his cause sound like personal, petty squabble when what it was really about was freedom and equality. Things that Fenris agreed on, just… Not for people like Anders.

  “Don't deserve him anyway,” he reminded himself as his thoughts began to veer off, “Should go back to…”

_ Sleep _

_   The Manifesto _

__ It was always a little disconcerting when he and Justice disagreed on something. They spoke in feelings mostly but occasionally words made their way to the surface, especially when Justice was particularly insistent on something. 

  He was so fatigued that he swayed a little when he stepped back to his desk but Anders knew that Justice was right. Besides, he had nothing else to occupy his time with.

 

 

  He had noticed the mage staring at him more as of late though he did his best to ignore it. Most of the looks were cursory but some of them were…

_ Do not need his pity, _

_   Not some sad little- _

__ He quickly reigned his thoughts in. Varric already accused him of brooding too much, although he had let up a little since that night with Hawke.

  Pity, again. Fenris was going to become sick off of it. Thankfully he was distracted by the voice of their leader, finally calling a halt to their marching. They had been searching for Tal-Vashoth along the Wounded Coast but hadn't killed enough to satisfy her quite yet.

  “We’re going to stop and make camp here,” Hawke announced, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and onto her arm where it dangled, swaying heavily, before she dropped it to the ground.

  “Shouldn't we move up to higher ground?” Anders asked, looking at their surroundings with a pinched look on his face. “We could easily be attacked from-”

  “Circle Mage,” Hawke said, addressing Andres with the title that she only used when she really wanted to piss him off, or to prove a point, “I know you didn't get to spend a lot of time outside but trust me, this is fine.”

  “I was in the Wardens,” Anders snapped back at Hawke, “And I know there are better places to make camp.”

  “We’ll set up a perimeter Blondie,” good old Varric, trying to stymie the argument before it could really spiral out of control. Sad that he hadn't learned better than to interfere by now.

  “We should still-”

  “Mage,” Hawke said, and her voice had gone from sardonic to something even less savory. “We are camping here. If you wish you can go elsewhere but that is your choice.”

  Anders stood there, his cheeks slowly reddening. Briefly he shot a glance at Fenris but the elf just ducked his head. 

  Not enough, unfortunately, for he could still see the way that Anders’ shoulders slumped, the look of defeat on his face. 

  “Fine,” he said, though his tone said otherwise. “As you wish, Hawke.”

  “Now that wasn't so hard, was it?” Hawke had a smile on her face, a pleasant one. And then she said, “Circle Mage.”

  Anders flushed,  brilliant red color, and squeezed his fists tight.

  “I am going to go bathe,” he said and then turned around, marching determinedly away from the others. 

  “The man needs to grow a thicker skin,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes, “Can't he see I'm just teasing him? Ah well, he’ll calm down eventually.” She turned away then, beginning to set up camp and trade jibes with Varric that sounded mostly good-natured.

  Fenris stared at her for a moment and then quietly began to work as well. It wasn't that he felt bad for the mage, it was just…

  No, it wasn't anything. He didn't  _ feel  _ anything, besides maybe irritation that the man didn't know when to stop fighting. It might have been an admirable quality, his tenacity, if his ideals were not so warped.

  Once he was done he turned around, trying not to fidget and instead forcing himself to dig his toes into the gritty sand. It grounded him, a little at least.

  “I will be back momentarily,” he said, and ignored Hawke’s comment as he turned away, beginning to follow the first path he saw. He didn't know where he was going at first, merely wanting to leave, until he stepped around some bushes and came to a stop.

  Anders was just standing there, in water waist deep. It had to have been cold but he seemed not to be affected at all, his shoulders relaxed and face turned up to face the moon which was steadily rising.

  Fenris took another step forward, feeling strangely drawn to the way Anders’ pale skin contrasted with the darkness of the water. He normally looked pallid, even sickly, but the moon was generous that night and he almost looked like he glowed.

  His eyes travelled over shoulders, across skin and settled on the large, ragged scar that rested on the middle of his back. It did not look like something a normal man could survive but he had known for a long time that Anders was nothing if not strange, an enigma he had never had the time or patience to puzzle out.

  His eyes travelled back up to find Anders staring back at him and he started, pulling back into the bushes as if he had not already been seen.

  A moment of silence and then a tired voice: “I'm getting out in just a second, you don't have to bathe next to me.”

  “Thank you,” Fenris replied, curt but polite. It seemed the safest way to act what with the way that his heart was pounding in his chest.

  He averted his eyes then as Anders stepped out and briskly toweled himself off before dressing. 

  The mage moved steadily up the path and passed Fenris before stopping. Fenris knew that he was about to say something, though he could not have guessed what, only that he stood in anticipation of whatever it was. 

  He watched as Anders opened his mouth, inhaled to speak and then shut it before trudging off again.

  It had been a wise move on his part, surely, and yet Fenris was unaccountably disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris learn to bicker a little less... Until they do.

  He hadn't dropped a touch of alcohol but the very atmosphere of The Hanged Man seemed enough to make him feel drunk. It was the good kind of drunk too. The warm, heavy kind that made him want to hug his friends, what few he had. Varric was the only one of them who attended the Wicked Grace nights faithfully but usually there were one or two other people there whom Anders could stand. 

  That night they had almost a full house, the only ones missing being Aveline and Sebastian which Anders certainly wasn’t going to cry over. It was loud in Varric’s suite, Merrill talking animatedly to the dwarf in one corner while in the other Isabela was busy trying to guess the color of Fenris’ underwear. Hawke wasn’t particularly keen on talking to the mage and so was busy watching the rest of them, humming to herself and taking large sips from the mug of ale sitting on the table before her.

  Varric dealt another hand and Anders lost, again. He likely owed his friends hundreds in gold coin by this point but luckily no one had ever pushed him for payment. Still, though most of the betting was friendly in nature he finally decided that he ought to head back to the clinic. He didn’t want to linger too long, wanted to keep the memory of the night warm and soft and he knew that if he stayed those feelings could easily evaporate.

  He stood, stretching a little, and said, “Well, it’s been a time, but I ought to be headed out.” He turned, ignoring Isabela’s jeer about paying her back, whether through gold or other means, but stopped when Hawke spoke.

  “Fenris, why don’t you walk Anders back?”

  Isabela chuckled and Anders heard Fenris make an exasperated noise. Both believed Hawke to be joking but something cold and unpleasant slithered down Anders’ spine when he turned slightly and saw how serious their leader looked.

_ She knows _ . Except- She couldn’t, could she? And why would she care if he had something of a… Of a crush on Fenris. The elf clearly wanted nothing to do with him and Anders had always tried his best to hide his attraction. 

  “Now Hawke,” he said, trying to be humorous, “I’m a big, grown-up mage. I can defend myself from a few Darktown thugs.”

  “Fenris,” Hawke said, “I know you kind of hate him but I’d appreciate it.”

  Isabela did not laugh this time and out of the corner of his eye Anders saw Merrill twiddling with the chainmail that lay over her lap. 

  Fenris opened his mouth and Anders wasn’t sure whether he wanted him to deny Hawke’s claim or not. They both knew the truth of it anyway and it was a relief when Fenris finally grumbled, “As you wish, Hawke.”

  Anders turned away then, quickly heading out of the room and towards the front of the Hanged Man, his face burning. 

  Hawke didn’t like mages- Fine. And she clearly didn’t like Anders in particular which was- Which was frankly understandable.

  But to try to humiliate him like this, again and again- 

  “Mage,” he heard behind him after he stepped out into the dark Lowtown street. He barely restrained himself from whipping his head around to look. “We should get going.”

  “I’m not actually going to make you escort me home,” Anders replied, the exasperation in his voice evident. “Just… Loiter outside for a while and then go back in. Hawke won’t ask questions.”

  “Are you aware of what happens to elves who are caught ‘loitering’?”

  “Oh, as if you couldn’t take on a few city guards with an arm died behind your back. And a leg too, probably.” This time Anders couldn’t resist turning back to look at the elf.

  Fenris snorted as if amused and then shook his head. “I had intended to return home anyway.”

  “Well,” Anders said, “I’m glad you’re disobeying Hawke one way or another.” 

  Fenris raised an eyebrow and Anders suddenly remembered that the man actually  _ liked  _ Hawke. 

  “Always a rebel,” he replied, his mouth quirked up slightly and Anders found him floundering.

  “That sounds an awful lot like flirting,” he said before he could stop himself. “Good thing I know better.”

  There was a long, almost painful pause before Fenris slowly replied, “The idea that I would have any interest in you _ is _ laughable.”

_ Yes, _ Anders thought to himself,  _ Absolutely laughable. Ridiculous.  _ He ignored how Fenris seemed to have to convince himself of the very thing because he couldn’t… He could never feel that way. 

  “Anyway,” he said, looking away, “Have… Fun in your mansion. Hopefully you’ve removed the corpses by now. It has been, what, six years?” 

  “Something like that,” Fenris said and there was that little smile again, as insidious as the first one. It made Anders want to linger, was the problem. He had absolutely nothing of value to say but Maker he wanted to continue to stand beside Fenris, to talk to him. To watch him. Just to be  _ near  _ him.

  “Yes.” He said, “Something like that.” 

  There was a moment of silence in which he could have said many things but all Anders did was give Fenris a short, cursory nod and then turn away. He had every intention of leaving things that way when Fenris suddenly spoke up, stopping him.

  “I… Some nights I play Diamondback. With Donnic and Sebastian and Varric. In my mansion.” He was looking down at his feet, first moving one up as if to inspect it before setting it down again. “I… If you would wish to join us…”

  “Yes,” Anders said, before he could stop himself. “I would… Like that.”

  “We need another player,” Fenris started, “And if I ask Isabela I know she will spend the entire time rifling through my drawers.”

  “Of course,” Anders replied, resisting the urge to flirt with a willpower that, as a mage, was supposedly beyond him. “I have a good record of no-drawer-rifling.”

  “And Varric told me that my standards were too high,” Fenris drawled, earning a surprised laugh out of Anders.

  “You put Donnic, Varric and Sebastian to this test as well?”

  “Of course, I do try to keep the riff-raff out of my home.” 

  “I-” Anders chuckled again and then shook his head. “I need to go. We haven’t… Argued for the last few minutes, and I need to leave before I ruin that.” 

  But still he continued standing there, just looking at Fenris. It was too tempting to believe that the easy banter between them might continue when Anders knew the truth. Perhaps Fenris did not hate him, but he still could never return Anders’ feelings. And what was more important, he could never  _ know _ .

  “You are staring,” Fenris said, though he did not look particularly discomfited. 

  “Just shock at how pleasant we’re being to each other,” Anders quipped and was rewarded with a small smile.

   “As you said, you should leave before things go back to normal.” 

  “Yes,” Anders replied, “Yes, of course.” And then he turned around and walked away, feeling inordinately proud of himself for not looking back.

 

  The first night that Anders attended Diamondback went much more smoothly than Fenris had anticipated. He had been worried about whether he would be able to get along with Sebastian or Donnic (a strange thing to worry about, after so much years of constant anxiety over his very life and freedom) but Varric had skillfully evaded any topics likely to start arguments and by the end of the night Anders and Sebastian were even commiserating about how terrible food from the Chantry had been, growing up.

  “Maker,” Sebastian had said, “I know I was lucky to have food but what I wouldn’t have given for some  _ spice _ .”

  “Don’t forget how they boiled everything- As if they’d never heard of pan frying something.”

  “How could I forget? I spent too many long nights trying to get the mice to eat my boiled chicken but even they turned their noses up at them.”

  Anders had laughed then, a low, throaty sound that had caught Fenris’ attention unexpectedly. He felt, suddenly, like he had when he had seen Anders bathing. Like he’d caught a glimpse of something that he hadn’t meant to, that he couldn’t fully understand but which he could not regret, either.

  The others eventually left, first one and then the other until only Varric, Anders and Fenris remained. The cards had mostly been forgotten by that point, helped along by the fact that Fenris had broken out the good wine. Anders didn’t drink but he appeared to be in a good mood, content, possibly even happy.

  And then Varric left and it was just the two of them and a bottle of Aggregio Pavali that Fenris was steadily making his way through. In the background the fire crackled, a pleasant sound that made the quiet between them feel warm and soothing. 

  “I should leave,” Anders said, though he made no move to get up from where he sat, cross legged on the floor across from Fenris. “It’ll be an early day at the clinic tomorrow.”

  “Is it ever not? Whenever I come with Hawke there is always a long line out the door. I find it difficult to believe that you can handle all of that on your own.” Anders wasn’t sure if it was the wine or that the elf had won so much money off of him but instead of sounding hostile Fenris actually appeared to be… Impressed.

  “I do what I can,” Anders replied, “Though it never seems to be enough.”

  “The world will never run out of suffering, though it is admirable that you fight so hard.”

  “Even if you disagree with what I am fighting for?” 

  “Yes, even then. I think your ideals are flawed. I think you underestimate the danger of what you ask for. However…”

  “However?” Anders asked, staring at Fenris with raised eyebrows.

  “You are… You toil endlessly, for little reward. You are a good man. Or at least try to be.”

  When he looked back up at Anders he saw that the mage was looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Fenris wasn’t surprised, given how antagonistic their relationship had been, but he was almost insulted. He disagreed with the man vehemently, but he’d never said that he  _ hated  _ him.

  Or at least, not exactly.

  “You,” Anders started, and Fenris fully expected Anders to argue or to say something snippy, was even mentally preparing himself for it, when he continued: “Deserve so much better.”

  “Excuse me?” He could not have heard the words properly, not from Anders.

  “You deserve so much better,” Anders said, “Than Hawke.”

  “Do not bring Hawke into this,” Fenris hissed, blind-sided by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. 

  “No, I’m serious,” Anders said.”I know that you… That you don’t think you’re worth much although how you could possibly-” He snorted and shook his head. “But you are. And Hawke  _ isn’t _ . The way she treats you, me, all of us- It isn’t right. And you shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

  Fenris felt his cheeks burn, the acid taste of anger in his mouth at Anders’ words. 

  “You do not know what you speak of,” he said, “Hawke is more than I ever deserved. If I had the chance to go back to her, if I thought I was worthy enough…”

  “But you are!” The words burst out of Anders like a powderkeg that had finally been lit. “You could have any Maker-damned person in this city. Someone that doesn’t- Doesn’t leer at you like Hawke or isn’t insensitive about your past-”

  “As if you have any right to chastise her for such things,” Fenris replied sharply, “What was it you said? That I had not the temperament to be a slave?”

  He watched as Anders first went pale and then as color bloomed, bright red, in his cheeks.

  “That was a mistake,” he said, “And I am sorry for all that I have said to you, over the years.”

  Fenris opened his mouth, having been prepared to say something else but was stopped by the unexpected apology. 

  “You…” He started, struggling to find the words. As he had grown to know Anders more and more he had found that he enjoyed talking to the man, and that even arguing with him had its own appeal. But he had never forgotten the things that Anders had said or the arrogance that he had displayed towards him, in some of the comments he had made. And while Anders’ regret did not soothe his feelings entirely it was… A start.

  “Thank you,” he said, “I suppose… I suppose I must own up to the unfair things I might have said to you.”

  “No,” Anders said, suddenly looking uncomfortable, “That’s not why I- Please, you don’t have to.” Before Fenris could continue he stood up hastily, pulling his coat more tightly around him as if he were prepared to leave. “Look, just… Consider what I said alright? Otherwise I’ll see you around. At the next Diamondback night, if nothing else.”

  He left as quickly as he could and Fenris could only sit and watch, his words circling in his head.

  Better than Hawke.

_ Better than Hawke.  _ Fenris could not imagine such a person.

 

  Anders hurried away from the mansion but quickly slowed down as he reached the Hightown market. It wouldn’t do to attract attention at this time of night and besides, Fenris clearly wasn’t running after him. He took his staff from where it lay slung against his back and used it as a walking stick, trying to catch his breath as he hobbled along, affecting the gait of someone who would actually need a staff to get around. 

  He didn’t know what had come over him. For so long he had been content to stand back and watch Fenris and Hawke without interfering with their relationship. No, content was the wrong word- He had been afraid to interfere, had known that his thoughts wouldn’t be welcome.

  Fenris had made that very clear, but Anders simply hadn’t been able to help himself that night. Perhaps it had been the sense of camaraderie he had begun to feel with the elf, as though he might do more than merely tolerate him. 

  He made it all the way to his clinic without being accosted, a miracle and one that he was almost willing to thank the Maker for. It was a good thing too as he was far too distracted by thoughts of Fenris, of what he had said.

_ Hawke is more than I deserve _ . Anders had felt a pain so intense in his chest he thought he might have actually been physically hurt. Of course Fenris would not think much of himself- His entire life had been a lesson in indignity, in being brought low. But it was more difficult than Anders had realized to hear the elf saying those things about himself. 

  He had fallen in love with Fenris for many reasons: His wit, his eyes, his honesty. So many things that, had he had the time he could have found himself simply listing off his qualities for hours on end. And to see Fenris seemingly unaware of all of those things, to see him hurt, made Anders hurt.

  Anders had known love before, with Karl. And he understood both how rewarding and how devastating a creature it could be. He had never been happier, head resting against Karl’s chest and feeling the steady cadence of his heart beneath his ear. And he had never felt so obliterated as the day that Karl had lain in his arms, his breath still, his life gone. 

  As he leaned against the door on the inside of his clinic he tried to gather himself together again. He’d always known when he fell he did so hard and fast but the things he was feeling about Fenris were too much.

  And then, suddenly, he felt it. A gentle soothing that creeped from the back of his mind and wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.

  “Justice,” he said, with a tired sigh. The spirit did not usually interfere with his emotions outside of their cause but it was clear that Anders was distressed. “Thank you, I…” He wanted to sleep and as he began to make his way to the bed even Justice did not chide him or try to turn him towards his desk where his manifesto lay, waiting patiently for his hand. 

  Justice was his friend and was only doing what was best for Anders.

  And, for now, sleep was it.

 

  “I do miss that little trick of yours,” Isabela was saying to Anders as Fenris walked behind them, mostly lost in his own thoughts. At the front was Hawke, cutting her way through the sparse vegetation of the Wounded Coast. They were hunting- Something, Fenris did not find that he cared. Hawke had asked for his assistance and he would gladly give it to her. How could he not, after everything she had done for him? Given who she was?

_ Better than Hawke.  _

  “I have many of those, you’ll have to be more specific,” Anders replied. “The heal-y one?”

  “No, that electricity bit. You remember, you used it at The Pearl?”

  Against his will Fenris felt his ears twitch. He’d heard of The Pearl from Isabela before, he presumed it to be much like The Blooming Rose, but never that Anders might have had something to do with it.

  “You knew Anders?” Hawke asked, turning her head back briefly to look at Isabela. 

  “Oh yes, you don’t forget a set of hands like that.” 

  Anders rolled his eyes, though he didn’t truly seem annoyed. “Those days are long behind me.”

  “But do they have to be?” She smirked at him, sidling a little bit closer and nudging him. “What about for old time’s sake?”

  There was curious feeling, Fenris thought, in his chest, as he watched Isabela’s bare arm brush against Anders. The mage looked down at her again and although there was no heat in his eyes still he smiled. 

  “I don’t think Justice would approve,” he said, sounding only a little disappointed. 

  “Oh, that old stick in the mud doesn’t have to know,” she joked, “Hmm, I could blind-fold you? Would that work?”

  “I don’t know,” Anders said chuckling, “I have a feeling he would still know.”

  Up ahead Hawke’s movements had grown jerkier, her irritation obvious. She always hated it whenever Anders spoke flippantly of his spirit. Anders in general seemed to make her angry and Fenris had often wondered why she tolerated his presence in the first place.

_ Said she’d be shit out of luck if she lost her only healer. _

  The memory came back to him suddenly and he sighed. There were things about Anders that would never sit easily with him, such as his demon or his fervor over mage rights. But Fenris could not deny that the man had kept all of Hawke’s crew alive through some pretty bad times. 

  Anders must have picked up on Hawke’s anger and although Fenris expected him to further agitate her instead he just quieted.

  “Don’t worry Isabela, I know where to find you,” he said, though most of the humor had drained out of his voice. 

  Isabela sighed, and then shrugged. “Suit yourself, the Hanged Man is a short walk from your little clinic.”

  She moved away from him then and Fenris felt a curious sense of relief as the gap between her and Anders grew wider. Her hands hung, a little aimless, at her side but they didn’t come near Anders’ again. 

  He tried his best not to understand why it pleased him to see that, or why it warmed him when Anders shot a look back at him, rolling his eyes and then inclining his head at Hawke. Fenris offered him a commiserating smile in return and Anders’ eyes, normally so wan and dull looking, seemed to light up. 

  They had certainly grown friendlier since their first game of Diamondback. Not that arguments didn’t still occur- They did, and frequently. But… They also just talked. About their companions. About Kirkwall and what had come before it. About whether Varric had modeled the lead in Swords and Shields off of Aveline and if Isabela was ever going to get a ship again.

  They often found themselves agreeing on things that Fenris had never thought he would and Anders seemed to understand him in a way that other people simply didn’t.

  Which was strange as he had no idea what Fenris’ life had been like. Anders could argue all he wanted but Fenris would never be convinced that living in the Circle was anything like being a slave in Tevinter. 

  Still, when Anders smiled at him he felt his heart speed up and he had to force himself to look away from the face that had begun to take up so many of his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders' relationship progresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not supposed to have a sex scene but then the chapter felt too short?  
> but i hope you guys enjoy it

  As it happened, that night, Hawke and Isabela shared a tent while he and Anders were banished to theirs. Isabela had made another joke at Anders which he had fended off good-naturedly. 

  Now they lay side by side, Hawke having taken the first watch. Though he was supposed to have been resting Fenris found himself incapable and had turned to Anders who, to all appearances, was asleep.

  “Mage,” Fenris whispered as loudly as he dared, given the thin walls of the tent. “Are you asleep?”

  “Yes,” Anders grumbled, “Let me stay that way.”

  Fenris frowned and opened his mouth to speak just as Anders opened one eye to stare at him in the darkness.

  “Do you need something?” He asked, tone suggesting that he had better not.

  “I have a question,” Fenris mumbled, averting his gaze. Why did the mage look so tired? Did he never rest?

  Anders seemed to take a moment to decide whether he wanted to respond or whether he wanted to just roll over and ignore Fenris. With a sigh he finally responded.

  “Okay,” he said, the reluctance in his voice obvious, “What is it?”

  “You have been with Isabela,” Fenris started, hesitant, “You have been with many people, I suspect.” 

  “I’m really not here for you to shame me.”

  “No I- You misunderstand me. I just.” He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He had no idea why he felt the need to go to Anders for advice, or why he felt as though he could confess these things. Only that he had seemed so genuine, that night after their first Diamondback game.

  “Before Hawke, I had never…” He trailed off, still resolutely not looking at Anders.

  “You- Wait-  _ Oh _ ,” Anders opened both eyes wide and then frowned. “So you want advice on…”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m really not… The person you want to go to for things like this,” Anders said with a humorless smirk. “I’ve changed a lot, since Justice. You’d be better to go to Isabela, honestly.”

  “I am more comfortable asking you,” Fenris said, and seemed to be just as surprised as Anders was by his words.

  “Well,” Anders said, when he finally managed to recover from Fenris’ statement, “What do you want to know?”

  “Is it always…” Fenris started, carefully parsing through his thoughts before speaking again, “I want to understand, but I cannot go back to Hawke.”

  Anders was completely silent and the elf could almost hear him thinking before finally, hesitantly, Fenris moved across the small space that separated them. They were close, far closer than Fenris normally let people, but though his heart began to beat in double-time he realized it was not from fear.

  It was from- Excitement, he supposed. Lust, even. It had the same name as the thing he’d once felt for Hawke, so long ago.

  No, he- Still felt that. Of course.

  It was just startling to realize that he could feel something like that for the mage, but Fenris did not back away from it. Anders lay so close that Fenris could feel the gentle puff of warm breath of his face, could hear his nervous swallow. He lay there, obviously waiting for Fenris to move away or closer towards him.

  Slowly Fenris moved a hand up to cup the back of mage’s head and Anders did not pull away, though a part of Fenris had expected him to, their history considered. Instead he tipped his head down and Fenris moved up, kissing him. 

  It was nothing like Hawke.

  Anders kissed slowly at first, hesitantly. His hands, when they finally moved, settled first on Fenris’ waist, as if they were both much younger and more innocent.

  But then he moved his arms up, nails digging slightly into the fabric of Fenris’ tunic, and pulled the elf closer to him, deepening the kiss. Fenris dug his hand into his hair, feeling the smooth strands run through his fingers. He tugged slightly, and was rewarded when Anders moved his leg in order to wrap it around Fenris’.

  And then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, breathing heavily. Fenris knew that Anders could likely not see him very well in the dark but the elf could see him, the look of want on his face.

  “Not here,” he said, still speaking so low only Fenris could hear him, “With Hawke and Isabela…”

  Fenris nodded. He wasn’t even certain about this, truth be told, but if he was going to explore this it was not going to be within hearing range of his other companions.

 

  Anders paced in his clinic, feeling worse and worse with each moment that passed that Fenris did not show up. Perhaps he just wouldn’t come, though he had promised that he would just as they had all entered the gates of Kirkwall and then begun to go their separate ways.

  No, Fenris was going to come, tonight. And they were going to…

  It was just sex, Anders told himself. Fenris was just curious, and still was unable to return to Hawke. He’d also ignored Anders’ repeated suggestions that he try Isabela, insisting that Anders was the only one he was interested in.

  Anders wasn’t sure if he’d been happy or devastated in that moment. He wanted the elf, but he’d known, even then, that he was only a replacement for Hawke.

  The door creaked open and he paused, feet finally coming to a stop on the packed dirt floor. In the doorway stood Fenris, dressed much more simply than Anders was used to seeing.

  “You… Are still expecting me?” He asked, continuing to stand at the threshold, as if waiting for permission to step across it.

  “Yes,” Anders said, “I am.”

  Fenris nodded and finally stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He looked around, briefly, before turning his attention back to Anders.

  “Your room,” he said, “Where is it?”

  “In the back,” Anders replied. It was the one part of the clinic that was his and his alone. Even Justice generally let him be when he was there. 

  Fenris nodded and then finally moved further into the clinic, closing the space between him and Anders. 

  “Show me,” he said, grasping Anders hand, “Please.”

  Anders tried to school his expression into something neutral or, better yet, flirtatious. He could not bear for Fenris to know how it affected him, just holding his hand, now gauntlentless.

  Maker, would he even make it to the sex?

  “I’m sure there’s not much I have to show you,” Anders said, giving him a smile that he hoped was cheeky. “Most of it’s instinct anyway.”

  Fenris looked back at him, a small smile on his face and replied, “Well, show me beyond instinct then, maybe?”

  Just sex, Anders repeated the mantra to himself. Just sex.

  “Right,” he said, and turned away, tugging Fenris along with him. He led him across the length of the clinic, the only light a few braziers that he kept burning so that clinic remained reasonably warm. His bedroom, or what passed for it, was curtained off and he he parted the fabric to continue inside.

  He felt the hand in his curl and he turned back to look at Fenris, already mentally preparing himself for all of it to be stopped, for Fenris to back out.

  “This is… Where you sleep?”

  Anders raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help but ask, “What, were you imagining some four-poster affair with velvet hangings and silk sheets?”

  “No, but…” Anders watched as Fenris took in the cot and the thin mattress that sat atop it. The crate which held all of his belongings. A scarf from the Warden Commander and his Mother’s pillow along with a few books.

  “It will do,” Fenris finally said, though he didn’t appear impressed. “Though I would consider my mansion in the future.”

  Anders felt his breath catch as the possibility of  _ more  _ was dangled before him. It was cruel, but he took solace in the fact that Fenris couldn't know that.

  “A fine idea,” he managed around the lump in his throat, “I rather miss the feeling of a real bed.”

  “But for now…” Fenris stepped towards him, lips quirked into a small smile. And then he kissed him, slowly at first before becoming more insistent.

  Anders returned it, trying hard not to be overly eager. He placed his hands on Fenris’ shoulders but they quickly moved down, wanting to touch and explore. Still, every movement was careful as Anders waited for Fenris to stop him, to pull away or to tell him ‘No.’

  Eventually he did pull away, only to look up at Anders and ask, “It is a poor excuse for a bed but we should still utilize it, yes?”

  Anders blinked and then chuckled before nodding. “Yes, I- I can agree with that.”

  He let himself be lowered down onto the bed, had to hide a grin as Fenris cursed under his breath and tried to stabilize himself above Anders. The mage pulled him down for another kiss and, feeling a little more confident, moved his hand up under Fenris’ shirt. He sighed as he felt the muscles there bunch and relax as Fenris moved over him. It was everything he had ever imagined, the smooth skin underneath his fingers interrupted by the raised lines of the brands on his skin. The way Fenris' hands touched him, slowly exploring him.

  He kissed the side of Anders’ neck and the mage was struck by how gentle he was being. Or was it uncertainty? 

  “What did you want me to show you?” He asked and felt Fenris pause.

  “It is difficult to put into words,” he said after a moment, “I just want it to be… Normal?” 

  Anders frowned, wondering what it had been like with Hawke. Did their new relationship give him the right to ask?

  “How… How other people seem to…” Fenris sighed and then sat up slightly. “The way you or Isabela can just- Enjoy yourselves. I want… That.”

  “Alright,” Anders said, having to ignore the part of him that demanded, longed for _more_ , “We’ll just do that then.” Just sex, as he kept reminding himself. The gentle touches were not care but rather hesitance and he was foolish to think otherwise. 

  He pulled Fenris back down and then he kissed him again, tangling their tongues together. This time when he moved his hands under Fenris’ tunic it was to remove it and between Fenris’ and his own eager hands they quickly found themselves naked. It was hard to resist the urge to hide, as vulnerable as Anders felt, but he reminded himself that he done things like this many times before. 

  “Maker,” Anders said, groaning as Fenris seated one of his legs between his thighs, rubbing against his cock and distracting him from his more maudlin thoughts, “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

  Fenris huffed a laugh of disbelief, “I do not know that I can agree but… Thank you.” 

  Anders frowned briefly, trying to ignore the twist in his gut, and then pushed at Fenris’ shoulder. “Come on now, onto your back-” 

  “What-”

  “You wanted to simply enjoy yourself, let me do this.” What he wanted was to worship Fenris and his body, to compliment him and hear the elf acknowledge it for what it was- The truth. But he could only do so much and would have to be content with his scraps. 

  Fenris finally laid back onto the cot though he kept himself levered up on his elbows, watching with a raised eyebrow as Anders settled between his legs. 

  Anders smiled up at him, a demure thing, and then slowly enveloped his cock in his mouth. This- This he could do. This he was good at.

  Fenris hissed and Anders had to hold back a smile as it turned into a groan. He dared to look up at the elf again, watched as his eyes grew wide with lust. Fenris’ hands slowly moved down and though they tangled in his hair they didn’t pull hard or hurt. It seemed more like an anchor and Anders had to quickly looked back down again.

  It was easy to lose himself in this, easy to ignore the ache in his jaw as Fenris arched and moaned beneath him. And he loved teasing him, running his tongue alongside the underside and then moving up to swirl around the head where he would suck, hard.

  “Anders,” he heard the voice almost distantly, but the tug on his hair brought him back. “I will- Finish-”

  He spoke as if it were an unsavory thing and Anders briefly stopped, pulling away, in order to tell him “I want you to-”

  Fenris stilled and didn’t speak, seeming to argue with himself. It was confusing to watch and Anders had to fight the self-doubt within him. He couldn't understand the hesitance, especially if all this was about was pleasure.

    _Not Hawke_ , his brain whispered to him and he steadfastly ignored it. No, he wasn't Hawke but that- Didn't matter. It was the whole point, rather.

  “Fenris,” Anders said, staring back up at the elf and trying to use his most sensual voice, trying to ignore his own doubts. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

  He felt Fenris’ cock twitch in response and smirked, knowing that he had won even before Fenris nodded and said, “Very well.” 

  Anders felt the sense of relief rush through him and barely stopped himself from thanking him, instead taking his cock into his mouth and beginning to lavish it with attention. Above him Fenris moaned wantonly and the hands in Anders’ hair tightened to a point that rode the line between not enough and too much.

  He felt Fenris’ cock thicken and sped up his movements, hollowing his cheeks and trying to ignore the way that his own throbbed against his leg. And then he heard Fenris make a half-aborted noise, felt his hips rise up involuntarily.

  Anders swallowed immediately, feeling the hot come slide down his throat. He drank and drank until Fenris whined beneath him and began to tug at him, mumbling something that the mage couldn’t quite hear. 

  Finally Anders stopped and looked up at Fenris, a satisfied look on his face as the elf lay there, glassy-eyed and panting, his cheeks flushed.

  “Did I…” Fenris started, still trying to catch his breath, “Did I hurt you?” 

  Anders blinked, confused and quickly shook his head.

  “No, that was- I enjoyed that.”

  “Good,” Fenris replied, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “I want- Come here.”

  Slowly Anders moved closer to him, trying not to think too hard on his question. It would be more painful in the end, he knew, if Fenris were too kind to him now. 

  “Okay,” he said after moving up from between Fenris’ legs, “I’m here.”

  Fenris looked up at him then, now breathing more regularly, and smiled up at Anders, a sly sort of smile that had Anders’ heart racing.

  “That,” he said, “Was a good lesson. And now I wish to practice.” His eyes were wide, almost hopeful looking, and the smile had curved into something sweeter and he ran a hand over Anders' thigh.

   It was a side of Fenris that he had never truly had the chance to experience and as Anders felt his heart constrict he began to suspect that he may have made a grave mistake in finally seeing it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little not-quite chapter chapter. I tried adding a few other things here but didn't really like where they fit so, along with this, I'll be posting chapter five which is a bit longer.

  “You seem happier Blondie,” Varric said, throwing Anders a look as they wandered through Lowtown and towards the Docks where Hawke had some business, “Finally got a cat?”

  Isabela chuckled lowly and said, “Oh, I wouldn’t call him a pet.”

  Anders threw her a panicked expression and then briefly looked at Hawke who, thankfully, seemed not to be listening to their banter.

  “You two,” he mumbled, “And your friend-fiction.”

  “Doesn’t count if it’s not fiction,” Varric replied cheekily. “Though it all sounds very friendly.”

  “It’s not what you two think.”

  “What’s not what they think, Anders?” Hawke was frowning- They’d been trying to find Qunari swords or some such thing and hadn’t recovered any yet. 

  “They think that one of my patients is in love with me,” he said, hoping that Hawke believed him and that the other two played along. He didn’t know what Hawke would do to him if she found out that he was sleeping with Fenris but he didn’t particularly want to know. It was obvious that she didn’t love him but if Hawke could find an excuse to torment him she generally took it.

  Hawke rolled her eyes, “They aren’t off-put by the fact that you live in a sewer?”

  “I think I’ve made the clinic rather homey, given what I’ve had to work with.” He tried to be joking but the smile Hawke shot him was humorless, more polite than anything else.

  “Right,” their leader replied, clearly unconvinced and turned away from him. Anders took the opportunity to shoot both Varric and Isabela dark looks but the two appeared to be unrepentant.

  “I think it’s cute,” Isabela said, finally “And I’m happy for you Anders, really.”

  The mage rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Isabela.”

  “Does this mean you’re completely off the market?” 

  “Afraid so,” he said, though privately he wondered for how long. Fenris had returned to him every few days or so, and had even told Anders that he could come to the mansion sometime. Often they stayed together after Diamondback and if anyone else noticed this they said nothing. Still, he knew that this would not last forever. Fenris, eventually, would find someone else. Someone better.

  But so long as that person was not Hawke, he thought he might be able to stand it. He would never fully have Fenris but at least Hawke would not either.

 

  It had been a long night at The Hanged Man, full of drinking, card-playing and camaraderie. They had gone with Hawke to the Bone Pit earlier and had killed a dragon, a  _ High  _ dragon, and had immediately returned to celebrate. Hawke had gotten extremely drunk, as had many of the others, and Anders had been forced to drag Fenris home, one arm around his shoulder.

  “Anders,” the elf slurred and began to paw at him, “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the mansion, so you can sleep this off,” he replied, ignoring the hand that was attempting to undo the ties on his coat. 

  “Good,” Fenris murmured as he attempted to bury his nose into Anders’ neck. The feathers were getting in his way but alcohol and lust had him determined. “I want you, I am going to have you.”

  “That’s very nice,” Anders said, feeling the same warmth bloom in his chest that he always did when Fenris showed him affection. “But all that wine you drank might get in the way.” How had Hawke let him go? Anders wondered if she knew what a fool she had been.

  “No,” Fenris said, and it was lucky that they’d made it to the doors of the mansion because the hand that had been working on Anders’ coat had gotten past it and was now reaching for Anders’ pants. 

  “You oaf,” Anders said, trying not to laugh as he batted his hand away, “Wait until we get inside, at least.”

  Fenris grumbled something and finally helped Anders open the doors, then stumbled into the foyer with him, his arm still around the mage’s shoulder.

  “We’re inside now,” he started, with a slow, wicked grin. “Anders,” he said, and the name came out almost like a purr. “Come here.”

  “Your arm is around my shoulder,” Anders muttered, trying not to melt into a puddle at Fenris’ words, especially given how filthy the floors were in his mansion. “Won’t get much closer than that.”

  “Mm, you will see,” Fenris muttered, leaning up to kiss the mage. It was more than a little messy and Anders had a hard time staying upright with the way that Fenris was clinging to him but by the time the elf pulled back the mage was already half-hard.

  “We-” Anders started, now breathing heavily, “We should go upstairs.”

  “Of course, you are completely correct,” Fenris replied and then kissed him again. Anders could taste the wine he had been drinking, could taste  _ Fenris _ , a flavor he would never be capable enough to fully describe. 

  “Fenris,” Anders said, and then groaned in frustration when the warrior moved one hand down to grasp the smooth curve of his ass. “Fenris, I demand a bed for this.”

  “I will give you whatever you wish Anders,” Fenris murmured, “So long as you suck my cock.”

  “Fenris!” Anders was caught between a moan and a laugh, “I really- You are incorrigible.”

  “Incorrigible,” Fenris paused for a moment, seeming to taste the word on his lips. “I like that.”

  “You’ll like everything a lot more if we go  _ upstairs _ .”

  “Fine, fine,” Fenris said, as if he were finally giving into some spoiled young noblewoman’s unreasonable demand. “Up the stairs we go.”

 

  “I like you,” Fenris said, sounding surprised even to his own ears. They were laying in bed, listening quietly to the fire as it crackled in the hearth. It had been a warm, comfortable silence, both of them sleepy from the sex and the soft blankets beneath him.There was a pause, a moment of almost unbearable quiet before finally Anders replied.

  “You're drunk,” he managed to sound calm, unaffected, incredible given the way his heart was trying to beat out of his chest.

  “I-”

  “Hush. That's not what we’re here for.” No, they were there so that Fenris could forget Hawke. And so that, for just a little while, Anders could imagine what it might be like to truly have the man he loved. 

  “As you wish,” Fenris said, and it did not matter that this was not what Anders wanted at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danarius arrives in Kirkwall and it changes things between Anders and Fenris forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this chapter lmao.

  Anders rushed to the mansion as quickly as he could Varric’s words ringing in his ears and the cold rain of the late Kirkwall night pelting him. When he had arrived at The Hanged Man to find the walls smeared with blood and the floor littered with corpses he had thought the worst. But, somehow, he had not imagined _that_.

 _Fenris_ , he thought, _Please be okay, Maker, please_ ,

  Varric had treated what had happened as some great victory and Anders supposed it was true that Fenris would no longer be beholden to his master. But Anders knew, in a way that he suspected few of the others did, just how painfully unsatisfying vengeance was. The way it left you both hollow and still full of a raging pain.

  Revenge, he thought, was like a dark forest. It was very easy to lose your way and even if you made it to the other side- even then- what did you have to show for it besides hunger and scratches?

  He did not know what state he would find the elf in. But he knew that he needed to be with him, now more than ever.

  He didn't bother knocking on the mansion door, instead bursting through it and climbing the stairs two at a time, his long legs pumping, staff smacking against his back.

  A figure stepped out onto the top of the stairs and he came to a standstill, suddenly tense.

  “Isabela,” He said, voice flat.

  “Looking for our little elf friend?” She was clearly trying to be teasing but her tone was too forced, the smirk on her face too tight. “I came here, probably for the same reason you are, he left the Hanged Man with Hawke but I thought he might come back here. Said that he was perfectly fine just before he left, though.”

  “Hawke,” Anders replied, and suddenly he wondered if he’d accidently stepped on a weak part of the floor because he felt like he was falling, falling, falling.

  “I’m sorry sweet thing,” Isabela said and the look of sympathy was now real, far too real. “I know how you…”

  “No,” his voice must have come out harsher than he’d intended because the pity in Isabela’s eyes only grew. “I don't… Varric wanted me to check in on him. That's it. But he's with Hawke now so obviously…”

   _He’s well taken care of_ , he thought bitterly. He hoped Hawke was happy. He hoped _Fenris_ was happy.

  He tried to remind himself that he had always known that they were living on borrowed time. He thought he had adequately prepared himself for how much it would hurt but he’d been wrong, just like he’d been wrong about so many other things.

  “Right,” Isabela said, and it was a testament to her kindness that she accepted his obvious lie. It didn't matter- She clearly knew the truth and didn't seem inclined to mock him.

  “Well,” Anders said, “I'm going to leave… Now.”

  “Of course,” Isabela said. “I'll be at the Hanged Man if you ever want to play a round- Or go a round.”

  She didn't smirk or wink at him and Anders didn't laugh. It wasn't a serious offer anyway but a kindness- Suddenly Anders was feeling smothered by all of the care around him.

  “Yeah,” he said, “Thanks, Isabela.” He turned away, trying to hide the way that his eyes shined with unshed tears, had to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

   Foolish. He was no young man with his first heartbreak. And what had they really had, that was worth crying over?

  When he stepped out of the mansion he made sure to shut the door gently behind him. It was still raining heavily and though he did not want to move out from under the eave of Fenris’ front door the thought of remaining anywhere near there made him sick. Hunching his shoulders a little he moved forward and disappeared into the night.

 

  He followed Hawke through the streets of Lowtown, pulled along by her hand like he were a child's toy. Though his gauntlets were sticky with blood she seemed not to mind holding them, only looked back at him and grinned her wide, infectious smile. Her hair was plastered to her face from the rain and she looked every bit like the hurricane he had always known her to be, wild and mesmerizing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, even as she hurried him up the stairs to Hightown, herded him past stalls and anyone still out this late at night. When they finally made it to her home Orana and Bodahn were nowhere to be found.

  “Where-” he started to ask, only to be stopped when Hawke put a finger against his lips.

  “Hush,” she said, eyes bright, “No talking, that's how you ruined it last time.” Her words came out like a joke, but one with him as the punchline.

  His gut twisted in shame and suddenly he wished it were Anders holding his hand, Anders pulling him up to his room and smiling at him like that.

  No, he- He didn't. He was confused. He loved Hawke but he hadn't been ready for her then, hadn't been good enough. Anders was a distraction, convenient but nothing real. What was between them was nothing like what he and Hawke had shared.

  “Fenris.”

  His head jerked up at the sound of his name growled. Hawke was looking at him with something like disappointment in her eyes and he felt his gut twist further.

  “Can you pay _some_ attention to me?”

  “My apologies, Hawke.” He was genuinely sorry and he silently chastised himself. Hawke had given him a second chance and he was not going to waste it. “It will not happen again.”

  “Good,” her face smoothed out then, into something gentler. “Now come on.”

  They moved slower up the stairs and the tension built between them. But where once it had been exciting it now felt… Off. Like he had found something but not quite what he was looking for.

  If Hawke felt any of this she didn't seem to acknowledge it. She threw him a look over her shoulder, lips curled in a smirk, and then opened the door to her bedroom and dragged him inside.

  He felt his back against the wall and then she was kissing him, hands tangled in his wet hair. She tugged, a little too hard, and ground her hips against his and suddenly he felt like there was a vise around his chest because it was wrong, wrong, _WRONG_ -

  “Fenris what the fuck!?”

  He blinked and looked up to see Hawke standing a few feet away, her hands curled into tight fists at her side. Her lips were turned down into a scowl but when he looked into her eyes what he saw most was confusion. He realized he had shoved her off of him and he felt both ashamed and disoriented.

  “I…” he started, just as uncertain as she was.

  “‘I' what? Use your words- What do you want with me?”

  He swallowed heavily and lowered his head to look down at his feet. He didn't know what, exactly, he wanted with Hawke. But he knew what he _didn't_ want.

 “I cannot sleep with you,” he said, raising his head again to look at her. “I am sorry, Hawke.”

 “You- What?” Now she was beginning to look upset and although he hadn't wanted to hurt her it felt strangely good to say no to her. “Then why did you- You're in my bedroom Fenris. In. My. Bedroom.”

  “I was confused,” he said, “And my feelings are still not wholly clear to me. But I do know that no good can come of this and that… And that it would be better if I left.”

  Hawke stared at him for a long time, eyes narrowed. Fenris let her- He was not beholden to her, not beholden to anyone anymore, unless if he wanted to be.

  He was free now, truly, and he knew that where he wanted to be was not here.

  “Yes,” she finally said, voice brittle, “It would be best if you left, now.” She folded her arms in front of her and the leather of her damp armor creaked.

  He knew that she likely wanted to say more but he didn't particularly feel like giving her the chance.

  “Good night, Hawke,” he said and then turned away from her and stepped out of her bedroom.

 

  The storm that had begun sometime after he had entered that Hanged Man had slowed to a light, misting drizzle and so he made his way to his mansion unhurriedly, taking the time to feel the cobblestone beneath his feet. Kirkwall was never very cold but the night was almost pleasantly cool and he breathed the rare, clean air deeply, feeling… Content.

  His former Master was dead and while the ghost of what he had had with Hawke still lingered in the back of his mind he felt as though he had been freed of that too. It had been years since he had physically felt the cool, heavy metal of chains around his wrists and yet it was only that night, only in that moment that he realized he could not longer feel their phantom weight.

  He stepped through his front door thinking idly that he would need to clean his gauntlets. He would wash his former Master’s blood from them, he thought, would watch as all that remained of Danarius disappeared down the drain of his tub. Slowly he made his way up the stairs, avoiding the rotted parts as he always did, and then stepped into his room.

 There was a fire roaring happily and someone was sitting in one of the chairs before the fireplace. For a moment he thought it was Anders, perhaps having come after he had heard the news, until the person stood up.

 “Isabela,” he said and though he was certain he was doing a passable job of hiding his confusion to anyone else’s eyes the pirate surely saw through him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Raiding your wine stock,” she replied as she turned to him, “Rifling through your underthings. You being gone only emboldens me.”

  There was no smile on her face, not even the hint of a smirk. She usually made the attempt, even if her displeasure was obvious otherwise.

  “Anders came here, to the mansion, a little while ago,” she said, as she casually leaned against the chair and looked at Fenris. “We were all worried for you, after what happened.” Her expression grew softer then, though it never devolved into outright pity. It was one of the things that Fenris had always liked about her, that she could walk such a fine line. That her commiseration came from genuine understanding.

  “Thank you,” he said, and then hesitated. He had never expected the support of Hawke nor any of her other companions and he did not know quite what to say in response. “I am… Grateful that you came to check on me.”

  Something flashed in Isabela’s eyes then and there was a quick movement as she averted them and then forced herself to look straight at Fenris again.

  “Anders came,” she said again, and her tone was less casual. He watched as she dug one of her long nails into the padding of the chair and twisted. “I didn’t lie to him about where you were.”

  The question, _Why would you?_ sat perched on the very edge of his tongue, ready to fall but he shut his mouth at the last second.

  “Anders knows that I… Went with Hawke.”

  “Yes,” she said and then she moved forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. Anyone else he might have shoved off or moved away from but this was Isabela, Isabela who never looked at him with pity, who never judged and whose past seemed as checkered and almost as tragic as his own.

  They were two kindred spirits, he thought, who had simply chosen different paths out of their respective traumas.

  “Take care of yourself, and don’t forget to come by the Hanged Man if you need your purse lightened a little.” When she turned to him her lips were curled into a full smile but her dark eyes were still sad. She could have hidden them, he thought, but had chosen not to.

  “I will,” he said firmly, and did not watch as she sauntered past him, out the door of his bedroom.

  When he was certain that she was gone Fenris moved to the chair she had just vacated and collapsed in it, resting his head in his hands. He hadn’t left Hawke just now because of Anders, or so he told himself. But it was undeniable that, were it not for the mage, he likely would have gone through with having sex with her.

  He let out a bitter laugh, thinking of how strange it was that he had kept up this… Whatever this was with Anders. The mage had never sought to define it and Fenris wasn’t sure that he could himself.

  And yet he found that he wanted to be with him now, to talk to him, to ask him questions about why it was that suddenly his chest hurt and his stomach felt as though he’d eaten too much of Corff’s stew from The Hanged Man. Anders had a habit of being patronizing but, surprisingly given that he had a spirit of Justice within him, he was rarely judgemental of Fenris’ questions especially as it related to his feelings.

  He couldn’t, however, now that Anders knew that he had returned to Hawke. Did he feel hurt, betrayed? They’d never talked about other partners but Fenris had the feeling that he’d made a grave transgression.

  But he had been high on the feeling of finally being _free_ after he had killed Danarius and Hawke had been right there, grinning at him, teeth bloody from where she had received a split lip in the fight. And it had been so easy in the moment to go with her, he had finally felt ready, felt _worthy_.

  He’d been wrong again. As he continued to sit before the fire in his empty mansion he could not help but wonder if this mistake was as unforgivable as it now felt to him.

 

  Anders sat at his desk, quill sitting loosely in his hand. He had hoped to distract himself with his manifesto, with patients, anything to make him stop feeling the way he was now.

  Alone. He was utterly alone.

  Closing his eyes he shook his head. He didn't even have a cat to keep him company. He’d been putting a saucer of milk out for years and for what? To make it easier for the other residents of Darktown to trap the cats and eat them?

   _I am not alone_ , he thought suddenly and he realized that it was not quite him who had thought that.

  “Justice,” he said aloud. Faintly he smiled though it did not quite reach his eyes. “You're right. We have each other. Forever.”

  Why did the thought suddenly twist his stomach into knots? Why did his chest feel too tight, like he couldn't breathe?

   _Fenris was a distraction_ , Anders thought. (But it wasn't him that was truly thinking these things because how could he, when he loved the elf so?)

   _Fenris was a distraction._ The thought was firmer, more insistent now. _But he will stand in our way no longer._

  “No,” Anders said, “That's not true, he wasn’t-”

   _FENRIS WAS A DISTRACTION-_

Anders clutched his head suddenly, groaning in pain as he tried to resist Justice as the spirit bloomed to fill the space in his head, putting intense pressure on his skull. It felt terrible but he couldn't think those things, knew they were false-

   _FENRIS_ -

  “NOTHING, HE WAS NOTHING,” he was bent over at the waist now, chest heaving, as he struggled to breathe, “BE QUIET-”

  And then, just as suddenly, the spirit was.

  The spirit, or whatever he was now. Anders wasn't sure that he even knew any longer.

  For a moment there was complete silence in his head, the only sound his ragged breathing as he tried to get his heart under control again. Justice could be pushy sometimes but this was… Different.

  His peace did not last long but he supposed he was lucky he’d been given a reprieve at all.

   _Focus on our work. It will help._

The voice was not gentle but it was probably the closest Justice ever came to it. And he was right. If Anders threw himself into the mage underground and into his manifesto maybe he wouldn't have to spend so much time thinking about the other parts of his life in which he’d failed.

  With a trembling hand he leaned down to pick up the quill that had fallen to the ground. He grasped it and tightened his hold, until only the faintest tremor remained.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head in Kirkwall

  He wasn’t brave enough to approach the mage in his own clinic but would send him long looks whenever Hawke took them out together. Anders never returned them and somehow managed to get out of ever sharing a tent with him. No one acted surprise, likely assuming that he and Anders had gone back to their old ways after the brief peace they had shared. 

  Sometimes he caught Isabela looking at him, a sad expression on her face, but Fenris resolutely ignored it. He did not want her pity, or anyone elses for that matter.  

  Anders’ coat changed from its ugly, though familiar, brown, green and yellow color to something that was entirely black. It discomfited Fenris to see him dressed this way, almost as if he were in mourning. His entire demeanor had turned darker, more cynical, and though Anders never spoke to him anymore except by accident Fenris overheard his conversations with the others all too often.

  Though he finally became desperate enough to try and track down the mage in Darktown he was always too busy with patients to speak to him. Fenris could have understood if Anders wished to end what they had had but he wanted to at least  _ explain  _ to him what had happened.

  Finally one of his assistants, a woman by the name of Lirene, told him to stop coming around. If the healer wanted to talk to him he would find him up in his fancy mansion in Hightown.

  Fenris knew that she was right. He had no right to keep skulking around the clinic, waiting to spring his apologies and explanations on Anders the moment he appeared to be free. And, although he hadn’t wanted to think of it, he knew that if Anders truly wanted to listen to him that he would have made the time to do so.

  It was far more difficult walking away from him than he ever thought it would be and he struggled with not comparing it to when he had left Hawke.  

  Briefly he thought of returning to Hawke but that had been tainted too. He had not been ready the night after he had killed Hadriana and he had not been ready the night after he had killed Danarius. Slowly Fenris was beginning to believe that he might never be ready for Hawke and that the only man he felt comfortable with did not want him at all.

***

  Anders watched from where he had been rolling up bandages a distance away as Lirene lectured Fenris. He watched as the elf’s face slowly became resigned and, finally, he turned around to leave. It hurt to see him do so but a much larger part of Anders was relieved to no longer have to avoid Fenris or come up with reasons as to why he couldn’t speak with him. 

  Frankly he was avoiding the elf and his explanations and his pity and while he knew it made him weak he couldn’t help it.

  He had always known that Fenris would leave him eventually and though he should have known that it would be for Hawke he had thought that maybe…

  It hurt on so many levels that even when he ignored one memory he would be buffeted by another one, just as potent. He missed Fenris, his companionship and even his arguments. And he wished that he had somehow managed to convince the man that he could do so much better than Hawke. Either he hadn’t argued strongly or often enough which was something he never thought he would have failed at.

  Even he didn’t smile at the joke, however, as he watched Fenris’ retreating back. 

  Idly he wondered if it would have hurt more if he’d just continued to pine after the elf for all of these years, watching as he returned to Hawke and things resumed their normal course. For a little while they had been happy together but the ache in his chest and the gritty feeling behind his eyes had him questioning whether any of it had been worth it.

  “That elf came ‘round again,” Lirene murmured to him as she walked back to his side, beginning to help him again. “The nerve of that boy, doing what he did.”

  Lirene didn’t really know what had happened but it had been obvious that Anders’ heart had been broken. She had taken it upon herself to help him heal and, while Anders didn’t really think it would be of much use he appreciated her concern.

  “Thank you for speaking to him,” Anders said instead. 

  “Nothing to thank me for,” she replied, humming as she continued to work beside him. “Should’ve taken the hint a while ago.”

  “Yes,” Anders said, “I suppose he will now, though.”

  “He better,” Lirene said, the fierceness in her voice perhaps overly protective. Anders didn’t say much after that, however, and they were able to work companionably enough until it was time for Lirene to return to her home. Besides, some of Anders’ contacts in the Mage Underground were planning to meet in the clinic that night and he didn’t want Lirene involved in it whatsoever.

  As he extinguished the lamp outside, closed the doors and waited for the other mages to appear he tried hard not to think of Fenris. Justice, or whatever it was that Justice was slowly becoming, helped a great deal in this regard. He had never fully approved of Anders’ relationship and would occasionally step in to… Distract Anders.

  It was both unnerving and comforting. Cosseting and suffocating. 

  Before he could think more on it, however, there came three very precise raps at the side of the door. He moved to it and opened it slowly before letting the other mages shuffle in, single-file.

  There were far less of them than there had been originally (and their numbers had been pitifully small, even then.) In the years since they had formed the Templars had been merciless in their cracking down and now only four other mages stood before him. 

  Anders sighed inwardly but tried to give the people before him a smile, even if it was a tired one. He no longer believed that compromise was possible, the Knight-Commander had made certain of that with her actions, but there was one last option available to them.

  He would never force the others to participate in it but as Hawke had refused to help him gather supplies he was running out of options. At least they didn’t have to know  _ why  _ he needed those very specific ingredients and so long as they didn’t ask questions he didn’t see much of a problem with it.

  “Alright,” he said, “We have some things that I wish to discuss…”

***

  Hawke leaned beside the door to Anders’ clinic, watching with barely veiled impatience as Anders worked to heal the few patients that remained in his clinic. Behind her were most of her other companions and Anders felt his stomach lurch when he thought about why she had gathered all of them together.

  “Meredith and Orsino are fighting with each other again,” she said, her voice dripping with irritation, “I imagine I’ll be able to talk them down but just in case things go south you should probably come along.”

  Anders rose finally after shooting his patient, an older gentleman with arthritis, a grim smile.

  “Of course Hawke,” he said, slowly moving to the sink to wash his hands. He tried not to think of how much blood they would covered in later. Tried to remind himself that this was his only choice, the only option left to him.

  Justice tried to soothe him but it was a fruitless endeavor. He was just as anxious as Anders was to see this done with and he prowled restlessly around the back of his head, like a cat caged too long. 

  Carefully Anders dried his hands, trying to still the trembling. Sweat dripped down his face and when he turned back to face Hawke he thought he might be sick all over the dirt packed floor of his clinic.

  It was necessary, he reminded himself. It was their only option.

   Moving to pick up his staff he strapped it to his back, taking a minute longer than he usually would to adjust it. Hawke was watching him, her lip curled up slightly, but didn’t say anything until finally he made his way back to her side.

  “Are you ill?” She asked, her dark eyes roving over his body and taking in the pale, sweat-sheened skin, the deep circles beneath his eyes and the way his robes hung over his thin frame. She flicked a hand in his direction and it took all of Anders’ will not to flinch away from it. “Heal yourself, you’ll be no use if you collapse out there.”

  “I am fine,” he managed between gritted teeth. “It’s just living in Darktown.”

  “Tch,” Hawke replied, “If you say so. I suppose you  _ are  _ the Healer.”

  Anders looked away for a moment, taking his temper in hand before looking back at Hawke.

  “Yes,” he said, “I am that, I suppose. Shall we go now?”

  Hawke looked at him before shrugging and moving away from the wall and towards the door. Anders stared at her retreating back before turning his eyes back at the ground again. 

  The group slowly began to make their way to the lift and Anders allowed himself to fall to the back. Most of the others were quiet, unusually so, but Anders was so consumed with his own thoughts that he barely registered it. Each step took him closer and closer to Highown, closer and closer to the terrible thing he would have to do.

  But it was necessary. And it was their only option.

  At some point between Lowtown and the Hightown market he felt eyes on him and he briefly looked up to see Fenris looking back at him. He nearly stopped walking but instead continued on, narrowing his eyes at him.

  Fenris frowned and opened his mouth to say something before promptly shutting it and looking away. Anders wished it would have eased the tension in his chest but it simply grew tighter, his lungs struggling for air. Ahead of them he could hear shouting, the raised voices of Orsino and Meredith mingling together terribly. 

  Each step up the stairs to Hightown grew more difficult, heavier than the last. Hawke had her hand on her daggers and he watched as Fenris shifted uneasily, raising his hand as if to grasp the handle of his broadsword before forcing it down again. The air was rife with tension and he felt as though he were slowly being crushed under the pressure.

  Justice moved and shifted, trying to calm him even as he struggled with controlling the need to take over. Anders saw a streak of blue flash over his hand and quickly focused on suppressing Justice, trying to remind him that now was absolutely not the time. 

  Over them loomed Viscount’s Keep and there, farther off, the Chantry. He struggled not to look at it, to pretend that it wasn’t there. Soon enough, he could not help but think, it wouldn’t be.

  Hawke finally stopped before Meredith and Orsino who looked as though they were about to go for each others throats. Around them stood Templars and mages, all of them tense, all of them ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

  He could feel himself choking, could feel his hand tremble as another brief line of blue flashed over it. It would not be long now. Meredith and Orsino’s voice were rising, rising and Anders could feel the smothering weight of Fenris’ gaze on him once more.

  Hawke had begun to speak, though he did not hear the words. 

  “You are not well,” he heard the words grumbled in a deep baritone, but did not respond.

  He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate past the hammering of his heart, the shaking of his legs. He had to do what was necessary.

  He had no other option. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the explosion and the Gallows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, at a certain point, you start reading this and become very upset about some of the stuff in the chapter I would recommend checking the end of the work for the notes that are there. They are *very* spoilery, but offer some reassurance about how the rest of this story will go.
> 
> Otherwise, this chapter is pretty heavy on the violence and angst, the next chapters will be heavy on angst as well but there won't be much violence again like this.

  In the moments afterwards he experienced a sense of peace unlike anything he had ever encountered before. 

  His work was done. All these years, all of the struggles, all of the pain, all of it had finally culminated into this moment. He would remember it forever. 

_ “Anders!”  _ He heard distantly  _ “What have you done?!” _

  He felt both as if fog swirled around him and if he were seeing clearly for the very first time. Around him rained rubble and fire and when he blinked he realized that ash had gotten caught in his eyelashes, almost like snow. 

  “Anders!” The voice was more clear this time and though he knew it was angry and that it belonged to Hawke still it did nothing to intrude on the feeling of contentedness (or was it numbness?) that had washed over him.

  “They will see now,” he was saying, though he couldn’t remember moving his lips. “The Circles were never a solution.”

  “Execute him immediately,” another voice, the Knight-Commander, perhaps. Anders had always hated her but now he felt nothing. “Make your choice Champion, and do it quickly.”

  Slowly Anders turned, finally, to look at Hawke. Her face was contorted into a snarl and the hand which held her dagger was trembling in rage. She took a step towards him, obviously intent on fulfilling Meredith’s commands, when someone else spoke up.

  “Allow me.”

  Hawke stopped and, frowning, turned back to the person who had spoken. “Are you sure Fenris? You don’t have to.”

  “I would enjoy doing so.” His face was smooth, like polished glass. He could have said ‘The weather is lovely,’ and kept the same tone. 

  Anders felt the first prickling of emotion then, as Fenris stepped forward, staring straight ahead. His face was determined but strangely it showed no anger and, more terrifyingly, no remorse. 

  He tried desperately to pull that comforting, smothering blanket of numbness around him again but when Fenris finally turned his gaze, now so calm, so  _ cool _ to him his fingers slipped and he lost his grasp on it.

  “Here, use my dag-”

  “No,” Fenris said, waving away Hawke’s offer without looking at her. “I have no need for it.”

  A chuckle as the Champion’s gaze lingered on Fenris’ clawed gauntlet and then she spoke again: “Wow, Fen, I knew you kind of hated the guy but…”

  “He is an abomination. It is past time he was put down.” 

  Every word felt like a cut, steadily delivered and devastating. Anders reminded himself that he’d been prepared to die for this. That he  _ was  _ prepared to die for this.

  “Well, be my guest,” Hawke gestured to Anders as if he were not even a person but some gift for the elf. 

  Fenris moved across the space that separated him from Anders, the silence around them almost deafening as everyone watched, some eagerly and some horrified. Finally he stopped, just a hairsbreadth before the mage, so close his intent might have been to kiss him.

  “Close your eyes,” the words were spoken so quietly he almost did not hear them but he obeyed immediately. Perhaps Fenris did not want to see his accusing stare. Perhaps it was a kindness, some nod to the fact that once, not so long ago, there had been something between them.

  It did not hurt, at first. Of course Fenris’ hand was not yet corporeal and while it felt strange to feel it slide into his chest, past fabric and skin, muscle and bone, there was no pain.

  Anders felt the ghosts of fingertips slide along the curve of his heart, felt them cradle it, as gently as one might a baby bird. And then they materialized.

  His eyes popped open and he gasped loudly, unable to help himself. He raised his hands to try to grasp onto Fenris’ arms, his fingernails scrabbling against the hard metal of his armor, but the man simply tightened his grasp. The edge of Anders’ vision bloomed black but he forced himself to meet Fenris’ eyes.

_ “I like you,” _ he remembered the surprise in Fenris’ voice, how he had almost sounded pleased, that night that they had lain together in the warmth of safety of Fenris’ bed. It seemed a lifetime away now, that, once, they had found companionship in each other, safety and trust.

_ “You’re drunk,”  _ what a fool he had been, to squander something so precious out of what, pride? Spite? He wished, desperately, that he had spoken the truth that night. 

  He could taste blood in his mouth, viscous and coppery, and the black was growing worse. He thought he could hear sobbing but that couldn’t be right, because who would possibly cry for him?

  “I-” he said, staring at Fenris and gasping around the pain in his chest, desperate to speak, “Like you too.”

  He heard the sound of something tearing, like fabric rending, and then the black consumed him. 

 

  “Well,” Hawke drawled, “You certainly took your sweet time with him.” The rest of her companions were quiet, sullen and even the Knight-Commander was looking a little pallid. Fenris’ gauntlet was soaked in blood and while Hawke could see… Something clutched in it she assumed that the elf had mangled the heart so badly that it was now unrecognizable. The important part was that the mage was now lying at his feet, dead.

  “Come on guys, we need to head down to the Gallows- One mage down, however many to go.” She smirked, a cruel thing, and no one laughed.

  “I need to hide the body,” Fenris said without looking back at Hawke. “Or we risk losing it.”

  “Eh? Leave it here- Wasn’t going to give him a burial anyway.”

  “The elf is correct,” Meredith said, a little more color in her cheeks, a little more satisfaction in her expression. “If the Chantry decides to investigate they will want proof that we have executed the mage. A body is important.”

  “...Right. Well, take care of it will you Fenris? Then join us at the Gallows.”

  “Of course, Hawke.” Fenris said. Behind him he could hear Isabela trying to quiet Merrill and her grieving, tried to ignore the stare from Varric that was boring through his plate armor and into his back.

  Finally Hawke managed to convince a few of her companions, Varric, Aveline, and Sebastian, to join her. With a final yelled command for Fenris to meet them later she took off, leaving Fenris standing over the corpse of the mage.

  His mage. His Anders.

  He dropped to his knees before him.

***

  Hawke stood at the top of the steps to the Gallows, inhaling and exhaling in slow, measured breaths. Her lungs burned, both from the battle and from the broken ribs that pressed against them with each breath. She was bruised and scraped and bloody, and though she was still able to walk her right leg protested, strongly, each time she attempted to put any weight on it.

  As she stared out at the Gallow’s courtyard, gaze roving over the piles of the dead, blood trickled down her right eye, partially obscuring her vision. She did not raise her hand to wipe it off, feeling suddenly too exhausted even for that.

  Some movement came from the end of the steps and she watched as Sebastian and Carver made their way up, their faces grim set, each looking nearly as tired as she felt. Her hand twitched but she suppressed it, as she always suppressed the little surges of power whenever they came. It was that much harder when she was exhausted but she had been doing this for years now, since that first moment she had felt it.

  She still remembered it so clearly, running through the thick Ferelden forest, chasing after her siblings. The mud under her little boots had been thick, making each stride more and more difficult. A coyote, strangely traveling alone, had jumped in front of them and without thought she had let lose a single strike of lightning that had instantly killed the animal. 

  She’d sworn her siblings to secrecy and they had kept it, even little Bethany. 

  There was a mage lying at the bottom of the stairs, hand outstretched with her black hair laying across her face. She was not Bethany but as Hawke’s eyes moved from her face to the unnatural angle of her neck she could not help but think of her little sister. 

  “Marian,” she slowly moved her attention back to Carver who was staring up at her. He might have guessed how she felt now but he could never truly know. 

  “Carver,” she said, her voice rough with smoke and dehydration. “It is good… To see you well.”

  “Hawke,” Sebastian said from her other side. He raised a hand and she observed a nasty looking burn running down it. “We should get you to a healer.”

  For some reason the sentence was very funny to her, though the sound she let out then was nothing like laughter.

  “Are there any still alive?” She asked, “I thought all of them were supposed to die.” She raised her hands and sketched a line before her. The courtyard was filled with the dead and still dying but behind her the Gallows were deathly quiet.

  “A non-magical one, I meant,” Sebastian said, “You are injured.”

  Instead of responding to him Hawke moved forward, past the two men, and made her way down the stairs. It hurt, every step making her want to cry out in pain. In her left hand she still held her sword and as she trailed it behind her it made a long, low scraping sound against the stone that sounded curiously like wailing. She ought to have re-sheathed it but was not quite yet prepared to. 

  At the center of the courtyard stood Knight-Captain Cullen or, she supposed, now Knight-Commander Cullen. He was staring blankly before him but finally came to attention when Hawke stepped to his side.

  “Champion,” he said, inclining his head wearily to her. “I… It is finally over, I believe.”

  He was a fool if he thought that this would not have reverberations across Thedas but Hawke was too tired to fight him about it. 

  “They are all dead?” She asked instead, “The mages?”

  Cullen’s face paled but finally, slowly, he nodded. “That was… She wanted…” He was very careful not to look at the statue of Meredith which now stood in the courtyard, an ugly, hulking thing which continued to radiate menace. “The Right of Annulment demands that all mages within a Circle be… Destroyed so that order might be restored. If we have done what we… Needed to do then there are no longer any mages in Kirkwall.”

  Hawke nodded, appearing to be satisfied. 

  “Good. It is past time that the city was brought back under control.” 

  Cullen just stared at her before looking back out onto the courtyard. Around them rubble still rained occasionally, and the sky was heavy with black smoke from the fires that had broken out across the city. They both watched as the sun struggled to make its way through the sky, having to fight through ash and debris. 

  When Sebastian made his way to her side again he said nothing until she asked, “Where is Fenris? And Isabela and Merrill for that matter?”

  “Isabela and Merrill never intended to follow us, I do not believe,” Sebastian said. “And as for Fenris…”

  Hawke frowned, wondering if Fenris’ body at that very moment lay amongst the rubble, battered and broken. But it seemed impossible- He was such a good warrior and, in any case, he would have certainly alerted her to his presence if he had decided to join them in battle.

  “Perhaps he was caught in some fighting in another part of the city,” Hawke murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “I know he…” 

  “He cared about this more than anyone else,” Sebastian said, though Hawke could hear the worry leaking into his voice. Once she had made the decision to side with the Templars it had all happened so fast and she hadn’t put any thought to the fact that Fenris was not by her side at the battle. “He understood the danger of magic,” Sebastian continued, “Better than anyone else.”

  “Yes,” Hawke said, “I am certain we will see him again… Soon.” She could have been more worried, she supposed, but she was so tired. All she wanted to do now was to fall to the ground and, just for a little while, rest. 

  Instead she just looked back to Sebastian and said, “You’re right, we should find someone to stitch us up.” 

  She would worry about Fenris later- He’d always taken care of himself and she had every confidence that she would see him again soon.

  She was certain of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, spoilers.
> 
> Certain characters that may appear dead are not in fact dead. The tags are not lying when I say that this is end-game fenders and anders positive (which to me means he ends up happy and living in a cottage by the sea, or maybe in a city in antiva) :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey is undertaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the beginning of what i might consider "act ii" of this story in that it goes in kind of a different direction and to me the tone is a lot different from the first part.  
> still, i hope you all enjoy it as much as the first part!

  “Drink, please,  _ drink _ -” The floor beneath him was hard and uncomfortable, but nothing in comparison to the pain in his chest or the fingers that were now in his mouth, trying to pry open his jaw.

  “Is he conscious yet?” A voice asked distantly, high-pitched and terribly worried. “Careful, don’t drown him-”

  “He needs this,” the voice that sat over him hissed. “He cannot very well heal himself when he is unconscious.”

  Liquid hit his mouth just as the fingers moved away and Anders found himself reflexively swallowing bitter, bark-tasting liquid. It was enough to force open his eyes and to sit up, choking and gasping for air.

  Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him as he curled up slightly, hand moving to his chest. He’d been injured, though he couldn’t immediately remember why. There was blood on his tunic, just over his heart, and without thought he began to heal it.

  And then he looked up at the person holding him, and he realized it was Fenris.

  “You,” he whispered, shocked, and attempted to scrabble up. Fenris resisted at first and then let him go, watching as the mage stumbled back, away from him, Isabela, and Merrill. “What-” He started, “I don’t understand.”

  “Hawke sided with the Templars,” Isabela said, trying to sound casual although the worry in her eyes was obvious. “Big surprise there.”

  “I couldn’t- I couldn’t join her,” Merrill said, clearly upset, “So Isabela refused to go with her and stayed with me, and we tried to help Fenris save you.”

  “Save me?” Anders said, turning from Isabela and Merrill to Fenris with an accusatory look on his face. He was grasping to understand what was happening, what exactly  _ had  _ happened. He was filled with nausea and not a little bit of fear and while his last memories were fuzzy and confused they were filled with pain, filled with Fenris- “You tried to _kill_ me.” He spat, “Your hand was in my chest.”

  “Were you not ready to die?” Fenris returned, his eyes flashing in their anger, “You certainly seemed to be.”

  Anders squared his shoulders, glaring now. “Yes,” he said, “I was ready to die for my cause. I still am.” He wanted to stand up but just remaining conscious and staring down Fenris was taking almost all of the strength he possessed. 

  “You are a fool,” the elf replied, “Kirkwall is burning and the only reason you are not being hunted is because Hawke believes you to be dead.” 

  For a moment he said nothing. He’d expected the damage to Kirkwall, had anticipated what might become of the city. He’d made escape plans, should he have survived, but had never thought to include the three people standing before him. He’d always assumed that he would be on his own or with a few other mages, at best.

  “And I nearly was,” he said, “Do you have any idea the damage you did to my chest?” Anders shook his head, and then muttered, “Fine. Thank you for saving me- However you did it and for whatever reason. But I need to leave, to go and fight with my fellow mages. I will not leave them to Meredith and Hawke’s mercy.” Shakily he stood up, instinctively reaching for his staff and frowning when he didn’t feel it at his back.

  There was a long moment of silence and then Isabela, as gently as she could, said, “The fighting is over. Or at least, our part in it is.”

  “What do you mean?” Anders asked and began to look around the room which was, curiously, windowless. He felt movement beneath his feet, a long, gentle sway, and then ever so slowly turned in shock to his three companions. “Are we… Are we on a  _ boat _ ?” He’d only been on a ship this large once, on the journey from Ferelden to Kirkwall. But he hadn’t forgotten the way it felt it be on one.

  “We had to leave,” Fenris said, “We had to get you out of the city.”

  “Why,” even injured as he was suspicion was not beyond him, “So you could take me to the Divine?”

  “To protect you,” Fenris said, and Anders watched as his frown grew deeper. 

  “Kitten,” Isabela suddenly said, interrupting the two men, “We have some stuff up-deck, if you’d help me with it.”

  She didn’t seem like she wanted to leave but finally Merrill nodded and joined Isabela in leaving the room, and Fenris and Anders, alone.

  “I don’t understand,” Anders said, allowing himself to sit down on one of the chairs nailed to the floor. “Why you would…”

  “I could not let you die,” Fenris said, swallowing heavily and averting his eyes “I was not capable of killing you, in the end.”

  “Yes, you could have. I don’t… You hate mages. Why didn’t you go with Hawke to help the templars?”

  “I do not  _ hate  _ mages,” Fenris started, “And I do not… I no longer know what to make of you. As for Hawke, I- I found I could not follow her in the end, either.”

  “Fenris…” He started and then stopped, running a hand through his hair. “You and Hawke…”

  “You presume much.”

  Anders scoffed, offended, “Everyone could see the puppy eyes you turned on her, even Merrill.”

  “You think I pined for Hawke,” Fenris said, “You are wrong.”

  Anders felt the anger in the back of his throat, felt it cloud his vision. “Then who? Because it certainly wasn't me.”

  “That is not true,” Fenris took a step forward, and then stopped when Anders backed up in response. “I could not- You would not speak with me, would not be alone with me. I had no opportunity to explain.”

  “Explain what? That when you finally felt yourself worthy enough you ran back to her bed? That I was just a- A-” Anders was breathing heavily now, his face red. His chest hurt again, though he had healed it completely. He closed his eyes, grateful that Fenris seemed to have fallen back in silence.

  “I always knew,” Anders said, opening his eyes again. “I always knew what I was to you and that was  _ fine _ , I accepted it, knew that I would never have more. But don't waltz in here and- And pretend that any of it meant more to you than it obviously did.” 

  Fenris just stared at Anders, looking as though he were grasping onto the last dredges of his patience with all that he had. 

  “Very well,” he said, “Believe what you wish. But know that I had no intention of leaving your side anytime soon.”

  Anders snorted and replied, “And if I tell you I don’t want you? That I have some self-respect?”

  “It is not about that anymore,” Fenris said, stalking forward and this time Anders did not move away from him. “What you did… I cannot let you go.”

  “Excuse me?” 

  “I could not bring myself to kill you,” Fenris said, “But I cannot let you be free either.”

  Anders felt an almost unholy rage wash over him at the words. At the sheer arrogance of them. Fenris had ‘saved’ him from Hawke, only to make himself his gaoler? 

  Giving him a brittle smile Anders said, “The Circles could not contain me. And neither will you,” and then stepped away from him, leaving the room before the elf could see the way his knees trembled.

***

  The wind was warm and it stung whenever it hit him, the salt from the ocean spraying up into his face. He squinted but did not raise his hands to shield his eyes, instead gripping the railing of the ship tightly. 

  He didn’t understand why they had saved him. He’d known when he’d placed the explosives that this would all end in his death. He’d prepared himself for that inevitability. And now, to have to go on…

  Anders swallowed heavily and when his eyes itched and watered he told himself that it was all the ocean water and the wind coming off of the sea. He had not been prepared to survive but he would do so. There were other Circles, other imprisoned mages out there and so long as he lived he could not forget them. 

  He reached for Justice, waiting for the sense of approval and righteousness to flow through him as it seemed to so naturally do. They might rarely use words with each other but the truth was that they didn’t need those things to communicate. They’d been together for so long now, been a part of each other in a way that no one else could possibly understand.

  The mage reached.

  And reached.

  And reached. 

  He felt as though he were moving a hand through his soul, searching for Justice, trying to call to him as one might a stray cat. He waited patiently at first, until his mental digging started to become more frantic.

  He- Perhaps he was sleeping, somehow. The decade of fighting that they had undergone had been so terribly exhausting and perhaps Justice felt the need to rest, now that that particular chapter of their lives had come to a close. Anders told himself this, even though he knew that spirits had no need for such mortal things as food or water or sleep. 

  But Justice could not possibly have gone. It didn’t… It didn’t make any sense.

  No he told himself, trying to hold the rising panic at bay. He wasn’t. He wasn’t gone. 

  “Anders?” 

  The mage jumped, whipping around to see Merrill standing before him, holding a tray of food that looked only vaguely edible. She was frowning at him, her eyebrows pinched above her wide green eyes, and tentatively she spoke again. 

  “I only… I thought you might want some food. It’s not- Very good. Some old bread and some fish, but Isabela says it’s the best we’ll have for a while since we’re on a ship now.”

  Anders stared at her, his swirling thoughts momentarily disrupted by her presence, though he still hadn’t removed his hands from where they gripped the railing like it was the only thing holding him up.

  “Why…” He started, “Why are you being so kind to me?” He was honestly puzzled and Merrill seemed confused by it.

  “Oh. You’re asking because of the… Thing.” She averted her eyes briefly before looking back at him. “I never… I don’t think I could ever have done what you did. But I don’t think…” She sighed, lowering the plate slightly as her shoulders fell. “I don’t hate you Anders. I don’t  _ like  _ what you did but, well, us mages were rather between a rock and hard place, as you humans like to say.”

  “Oh.” Anders was so dumbstruck by the unexpected support, or at least the absence of vitriol, that it was all that he found himself capable of saying. “Thank- Thank you.”

  “Of course Anders. So,” Merrill said, a tentative smile on her face as she lifted up the plate towards him, “Food?”

  He took it with both hands, looking at the hard, crusty bread and then up at Merrill as if he were seeing them for the first time. 

  “Thank you, Merrill,” he said.

  “Oh it was no bother at all. When it gets dark remember to come below deck, the other crew members like to play cards.” With that she turned away, striding towards what Anders believed was called a Crow’s Nest. After a moment he turned his attention away from her and back down to the plate of food that someone, Merrill he supposed, had prepared specifically for him.

  It wasn’t what one normally thought of as a gift but it’d been so long since another person had thought to give him anything. Slowly he picked up the piece of bread, nibbling along one nearly burned edge and then taking a small bite.

  It wasn’t very good, truth be told, too hard and a little old tasting. And yet suddenly Anders was ravenous. The next bite he took was large and his cheeks bulged a little as he began to chew as quickly as possible, trying to swallow as much as he could at once in order to fill his belly.

  He slid down to sit on the deck, cross legged, as he continued to stuff himself. The bread disappeared quickly and next came the fish. Anders nearly moaned at the way the flesh parted and licked the oil from his fingers.

  When he was done he set the plate down next to him and placed a hand over his stomach. It hurt to eat so much after years and years of constantly denying himself, his abdomen stretched thin. But there was a part of him that almost wanted more, perhaps something sweet. 

  Instead he moved his head back in order to look up at the sky which was slowly darkening from the pretty blue it had been earlier. He wondered how long he had been aboard, unconscious. He could see a faint line far away, what must have a shoreline, so it could not have been very long perhaps not even a day.

  Suddenly he wished that he had asked Isabela where they were going. Not that it mattered, much, but it would have been nice to know.

  He sighed, watching the stars as they slowly began to appear, like shy young ingénues presenting themselves at a ball for the first time. It was lovely, actually, and he found that for the first time, in a long time, he was able to simply enjoy something.

   Eventually, however, he stood, grumbling when he realized that one of his feet had fallen asleep. Shuffling awkwardly to the door that would take him below deck he paused, finally bothering to wonder where it was that he was going to be sleeping.

  He knew that he would not discover the answer to that by continuing to stand there but it was another full minute before he finally moved, taking one step at a time. He clutched the railing tightly, feeling the rock and sway of the ship more deeply the further down he went. Faintly he could hear the sound of good-natured yelling and assumed that it was the other sailors playing card games.

  Merrill had given him an invitation but it wasn't one which he could rightfully accept. He wondered if the other sailors knew who he was, what he had done and he decided that they couldn't possibly have. They’d have killed him by now if they knew, he was certain of it.

  With that in mind he turned towards the other cabin doors. The one he had come out of (escaped from) had been at the end on the left and he slowly headed towards it. 

  Getting to the bed, or rather what counted for a bed on a boat, was a relief. He didn't bother lighting any of the candles in the room, instead just fumbling his way towards it in the dark and then flopping down onto it. For a moment he lay there, feeling the thin blankets beneath him, the little pillow under his head.

  It wasn’t the most comfortable but he was exhausted, though he could not have been awake for more than a few hours. Of course the last few days had been… Difficult and so he wasn't completely surprised when he found his eyes sliding shut as he drifted off, lulled to sleep by the perpetual rocking of the ship.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's important to reiterate the point that I do not agree with everything a character says. This being post-Chantry boom there's a lot of opinions, many of which I don't agree with but that I felt were most in-line with the character.

  Fenris had wanted to drink, desperately, but had stopped himself from having more than a sip of two of the liquor that had been passed around the card table earlier. Some kind of rye whiskey he imagined, though it tasted more like turpentine than alcohol. 

  He had wanted to drink but had seen that it wasn't wise, such as things were. Anders, although trapped on the ship just like the rest of them, had proven himself to be far more unpredictable than Fenris could ever have imagined.

  He had known of the mage underground, the escapees and the Manifesto. He’d known of Justice, of Anders’ refusal to bend to the will of the Chantry and the Templars. 

  He had known of all of this and had disapproved, heavily. But he’d still liked the mage, when all was said and done. Had enjoyed spending time with him, fighting alongside him. He couldn't have explained why he had trusted him either, only that he had.

  And then…

  It was still difficult to believe, what had happened. Even for someone such as himself who had witnessed the destruction of the Chantry, who had felt the reverberation of the blast in his very bones. 

  For ten years the building had loomed over him, an only-slightly-holier reflection of the Gallows. For most people he knew that it had been a sign of hope, a shining tower of light in a city far too often cloaked in darkness. He’d learned to ignore it, not hating the Chantry but neither seeing his place within the Maker’s light. He wondered, now, what Anders had seen when he had looked at it and desperately wished that he could have found some way to forget it, just as Fenris had.

  And now it was gone, a hole torn through the fabric that had been Kirkwall. The city would never be the same. 

  His thoughts kept him company as he made the short journey from the mess deck where the ship’s crew had dined and then begun their card playing to his room. Opening the door he stepped inside and then froze, realizing that there was someone lying in one of the beds.

  They moved, mumbling something, and then sat up, turning to Fenris.

  “My room,” they muttered and then with a wave of their hand lit several of the candles in the room. Fenris flinched away from the sudden light and unexpected use of magic though he already knew who he had stumbled upon.

  “You,” Anders said, the disgust in his voice evident. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was planning on sleeping,” Fenris replied, trying to keep his voice even. He watched as Anders stiffened and then sat up, as if preparing to leave.

  “There are only so many rooms aboard this ship, and we had… Had anticipated that you would share this room with me," he continued, trying to explain, to head off the argument that he knew was doomed to follow.

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Merrill, Isabela and I.”

  “I don’t understand,” Anders said and Fenris watched as he balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the tender flesh there. (No, not tender but rather calloused, Fenris had not forgotten how those hands had felt.) 

  “We… After Hawke left you for dead-”

  “After you tried to kill me,” Anders hissed.

  “I was not trying to kill you. I wanted to save you from Hawke and I thought if I could convince her that I had killed you that perhaps you could be… That I could hide you. That you could heal yourself. That you might live. Isabela had the ship and offered us passage to Antiva.”

  Finally the mage fell silent, staring ahead at Fenris with eyes that seemed to look straight through him. Fenris did not look away, no matter how he itched to do so.

  “Antiva was Isabela’s original destination but I felt it would be a good place to hide. We could stay in Rialto, perhaps.”

  “You’re-” Fenris watched as Anders buried his face in his hands, tugging on his hair. “No,” his voice was muffled but still that word seemed so clear. “ _ No _ .”

  “I am aware that things ended badly between us-” Anders barked out a harsh laugh that caused Fenris’ stomach to twist but still did not raise his head, “-But I cannot deny that when Hawke threatened you I…” 

  It was surreal to think that it had been just a few days ago, that it had all happened. He had stood there, had heard Hawke prepare to kill Anders.

  A part of him knew that he should have let Hawke go through with it, that Anders had done a terrible thing. That he’d killed people-  _ Innocent  _ people- and for a cause that Fenris disagreed with. But, in the end, whenever he imagined Anders dying his heart filled with dread. 

  He hadn’t been able to let Hawke kill him. And he would have to live with his weakness. 

  “I could not let her kill you,” he finally said, unable to explain beyond that. 

  There was silence and then Anders’ groaned “Maker.” Fenris knew that it was not a good thing but couldn’t have said what, exactly, Anders was thinking. But then, if the events of the past few days were anything to go by he’d been unable to read the mage for a long, long time.

  He wondered how long Anders had been planning this. If he’d silently made lists of the ingredients he would need for his bombs in his head while they had lain together in Fenris’ bedroom. It seemed impossible, but then so much of this was.

  “Has it occurred to you,” Anders asked after raising his head, “That I might not want to go with you to Antiva? That I might not want to go with  _ you _ ? That I might try to escape from you every day and that, if the Chantry and the Templars could not contain me that you cannot possibly?”

  It had occurred to Fenris. It had occurred to him with every step he had taken out of that wretched city, Anders’ barely breathing body slung over his shoulders. It had occurred to him when he had begged Isabela to help him, and when she had nodded, a look on her face of such disquieting sadness. 

  “Yes,” he finally said. 

  “And you did it anyway,” Anders said, a look of awe on his face that was quickly building into outrage. “Fine. I suppose I can’t just jump overboard, much as the present company might make me want to. But the first place we dock I am gone.” He stood up then, grasping the blankets that he had been using and dragging them around his body like armor. He marched past Fenris then, taking care not to touch him, and let the room without another word.

  Fenris thought of following him but then decided against it. No good would come of it, only more cutting words. He’d known that Anders was capable of being vicious, he’d just never allowed himself to be so personally affected by it before.

  He found the bottle stowed away in one of the crates restrained against the wall. This one appeared to be rum, or so the faded label on the side claimed, but was far sweeter than Fenris had expected. Sitting gingerly on the bed that Anders had previously been occupying Fenris let himself drink and reflect.

  They would dock in either Wycome or Bastion in a few week’s time and from there Rialto was not terribly far. He wasn’t sure if he believed that Anders was really going to leave, then, and wasn’t sure what he would do if he followed through on the threat.

  He could recognize now that he had genuinely liked Anders. That, towards the end, what they had between them had been more than just sex. He had known that night at Hawke’s, when he had refused her, but he’d been far too long in acting on his feelings.

  Not for the first time he wondered if Anders would have gone through with his plan had Fenris remained with him, had he not tossed him aside for Hawke. He had hurt him badly, but he could not imagine that something like that would push a man to such devastating action. 

  No, Anders had always had that within him. Him, or the demon that had taken residence of his body. Fenris still wasn’t sure which was truly to blame (he wanted it to be the spirit, wanted the fault to lie with it and not with his Anders) but the fact the Anders seemed unrepentant did not bode well for that particular theory.

  Tipping the bottle back he took a healthy swallow, feeling the burn of the alcohol a little less than he had earlier. It made his thoughts muddled but softer and at the moment he welcomed that.

  He did not yet know what to do about the mage. But he knew that he had to do something. 

 

  He’d found space to make a bed, down in what he thought might be called the steerage. It was filled with crates and jugs but he managed to rearrange the cargo just enough to give himself a small space to sleep.

  It was less comfortable than his clinic and smelled only slightly better but it also meant that he did not have to see Fenris and that was worth waking up with aches and pains from a night spent sleeping on what was essentially a hard wooden floor. 

  It was quiet too, his only companions the goods that Isabela was transporting. Quiet enough, he thought, that he might be able to hear Justice.

  He settled back, placing his hands on his stomach and feeling unaccountably nervous. He had never intentionally tried to awaken Justice before, never having needed to. Justice had always simply been with him, a part of his every action, every thought.

  Taking a deep breath he exhaled it slowly and then closed his eyes, attempting to concentrate.

_ Justice _ , he tried to think, trying to communicate. When there was no reply, no hint of the spirit, he tried to think louder.  _ JUSTICE.  _

__ Still, nothing. Sweat bloomed on his forehead and he felt one drop as it trailed down his temple.

_ Mage rights. Mages locked in the Circles. Templars. The Chantry. Tranquility.  _ He went down the list of things he knew generally triggered Justice, far past what it would normally take to provoke the Spirit.

  Nothing. Not a single movement or hint of an emotion. 

  He couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t understand what was happening. Justice couldn’t be gone. The spirit was Anders’ confidant, his only friend, and he couldn’t just be  _ gone _ .

  Swallowing heavily the mage sat up and did his best to keep the panic at bay. He tried to think back to the last time he had felt Justice and realized that he had been just after the explosion, a sense of quiet satisfaction, and just before Fenris had stuck his hand into his chest.

  He felt his heart stop, almost as it had on that terrible day in Kirkwall. None of it made sense, but if there was to be an explanation for why he could no longer feel Justice it seemed very possible that it had something to do with Fenris and his abilities. He’d never explained them in depth to Anders but he knew that they had something to do with the Fade. 

  Slowly, shaking slightly, he stood up. He knew that Fenris’ room was not far but it was a long time before he could make his feet move.

  When he got to the door he hesitated and then finally knocked, his heart drumming in his chest. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t alone. He was just-

  “Anders,” Fenris appeared to be surprised by his appearance and he frowned slightly before stepping back away from the door. “Did you… Need something?”

  “We need to talk,” Anders said, expression grim. “Now.” He stepped into the little room, shutting the door behind him and then turned back to Fenris. He was breathing heavily and knew that he probably looked a little wild but it was honestly a testament to his self-control that he had not devolved into full on panic.

  What did he do if Justice was gone? Who was he then?

  “You stuck your hand in my chest,” he said, “And it didn’t kill me.”

  Fenris was watching him warily, like he didn’t know what to make of him. “No, it did not. I tried… I tried only to hurt you enough, that Hawke would believe you to be dead.”

  “Two broken ribs, shredded muscle tissue, damage to the lining of the chest cavity,” Anders recited, almost like a mantra to ground him. “That was what I healed. That was the damage I could quantify.” He began to pace and though he hated it it seemed to be the only thing that could ground him in the moment.

  Fenris swallowed audibly. “I am… Sorry. I did what I thought best, though I know it is a paltry excuse.”

  “That’s not why I’m here- Or at least, I’m not as concerned about shaming you as… As other things.”

  “What other things, exactly?”

  “You… What is it, exactly, that you do when you go around sticking your hands in people’s chests?” He stopped moving briefly, all of his attention focused on the elf.

  “What do I…” Fenris scowled but when Anders glared at him he stopped. “I… Ignite my markings. They allow me to…” He exhaled noisily, a sound of frustration. “I do not understand it entirely. I have mastered the technique, but the actual explanation behind any of it…”

  Anders stared at him, bewildered. “You don’t know how your own powers work?”

  “Danarius did not see fit to explain to me, a lowly slave,” he shot back, voice dripping in disdain. “When the markings are activated they allow me to move across what is normally solid matter. When I deactivate them  _ I  _ become solid again and can use that to destroy whatever my hand happens to be stuck in, such as a chest.”

  “Or a spirit?”

  Fenris stopped, clearly caught off guard by the question. He searched Anders’ eyes, as if to find a hint there, and then slowly asked, “What do you mean?”

  “You heard me,” he said, taking a deep breath that was not at all calming. “I haven’t been able to feel Justice since I woke up. Since you all brought me aboard this ship.”

  Anders watched as Fenris took in this information, watched in indignation as a look of relief passed over his face that he was not quite able to hide.

  The mage dropped his head briefly, struggling to keep the tears of anger and pain at bay. How could someone he had loved so much be so cruel to him? 

  “I do not know… I did not feel your… Spirit when… After the explosion.” He swallowed, “I can offer you no explanations. This is not a subject that I am well versed in.”

  “Well,” Anders said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. “This conversation was every bit as helpful as I anticipated.” 

  “Anders, I am-” Fenris stepped forward, his hand raised outwards but stopped when Anders flinched away. “I know that it… He meant a great deal to you. I am sorry for your loss. If that is indeed what you are dealing with.”

  “You’re glad that I can’t feel him anymore. You’re relieved that he’s- That he’s gone.” Anders took a shaky breath as the truth of his own words hit him. Justice was gone and Fenris had somehow caused it. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I am,” and it hurt, it truly did. “But I am not glad for your pain.” Fenris stared at him then, his eyes wide and beseeching. “It does not make me happy to see you like this.”

  “Well,” Anders finally managed, “That comes as something of a shock.”

  He watched as Fenris’ jaw worked but in the end the elf just looked away and murmured, “My apologies, Anders.”

  “Well that’s all very nice but I don’t forgive you,” Anders said, “You- You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

  “I know that Justice was your friend-”

  “Friend!?” Anders just barely kept himself from screeching. “Justice was not just my friend- He was- He was everything. He was a part of me- Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have someone so intimately connected with your every thoughts- Someone with you every moment of every day- Who guides you and motivates you and comforts you-” His chest was heaving and he couldn’t stop the tears that started to roll down his eyes. He wanted to hold out hope that his spirit might still be inside him, somewhere, but it was waning quickly.

  “That  _ thing _ ,” Fenris spat, finally losing control of his temper, “Drove you into the ground. I watched you, year after year, as he relentlessly pushed you, never giving you rest, never allowing you comfort. He would not even let you drink ale, lest you forget that you could have no purpose other than breaking your back for other people. And he drove you to destroy the Chantry-”

  “ _ I  _ did that,” Anders said, “You think I didn’t care about mages before Justice? That I was just fine with the rapes and the beatings and the Tranquility? No- I was too selfish to act, too scared. Justice made me a better man.”

  “You are a good man without him,” Fenris said, obviously upset when Anders barked out a bitter laugh.

  “You have no idea who I am without Justice.”

  “I-” The elf swallowed, audibly. “No, I do not. But I will learn.” 

  He looked so earnest and Anders wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. 

  “I won’t give you the chance,” Anders said, “ _ You  _ took him from him. I’ll never forget that.”

  He watched as Fenris’ face went eerily placid.

  “I see, Anders,” he said. Behind his eyes swam some emotion that Anders couldn’t quite decipher. But instead of trying he just shook his head.

  “You don’t, you really don’t.” He sighed and looked away, feeling suddenly exhausted from the fighting. He felt a wave of loneliness, bitter and heavy, wash over him. Who was he, now that Justice was gone? What would he do?

  He turned away from where Fenris had continued to stand, stock silent, and left to contemplate these questions somewhere far away from the elf.

 

  “Merrill,” he found her sitting on the deck the next morning after a long, sleepless night. She was coiling rope, a strange activity to catch the elf doing but she looked up immediately at his greeting.

  “Oh, hello Anders,” she said with a small smile. “I've just been helping with a few things around the ship,” she held the rope up for his inspection and giggling said, “I never knew ships used so much rope. I never really went above deck, when we came to the Free Marches.”

  “Ah, yes, your people came from Ferelden?” It felt strange to make small talk with her, so at odds with the tightness in his chest, the tears behind his eyes.

  “Yep! I can't say I miss it though, I was never much for the cold and mud. It always squishes up between my toes and feels so weird- Well you wouldn't know, I suppose, wearing boots and all. But you came from Ferelden too?”

  “Yes,” he said, not particularly wanting to think about his childhood or Kinloch hold. “I did too.”

  “It's so odd,” Merrill mused, staring off into the distance. “I never thought I'd ever leave that forest. But here I am now.”

  It was strange to feel such kinship with her, the both of them so far removed from their homes. But then, hadn't that been the case with all of Hawke’s companions? All of them had been lost in one way or another and they had found a home of sorts with her. A group to drink and fight and play cards with, if nothing else.

  And Anders had destroyed it. 

  No- he wouldn't allow himself to feel entirely guilty for it. And he wouldn't allow himself to regret what he had done. It been necessary, he knew that, even if no one else seemed to recognize it.

  “Anders?” Merrill was looking up at him, eyes gentle, breaking him out of his thoughts.

  “I needed to ask you some questions,” he said, “You're the only one on this ship who knows anything of magic or spirits.” He knew it foolish to have any hope but he had to exhaust all of the possibilities.

  She arched an eyebrow, clearly remembering all of the times that he had spoken down to her about her beliefs and her own magic. Internally he winced, and realized that he couldn't blame her if she refused to help him.

  “I… Am sorry for how I have treated you in the past. I know it is too little too late but…” Despite his expectations she merely gave him a small smile, instead of yelling at him as he deserved.

  “Thank you Anders,” she said, bowing her head to him gracefully. “All I ever wanted was for you to recognize my skills and knowledge. The apology was nice, though.”

  He thought about how he might have reacted had he been in Merrill’s position. Petty sat rather high on the list.

  “Of course,” he replied and tried to give her a smile, “I suppose I was a bit of a boor at times.”

  “And an ass,” she said helpfully and Anders surprised both her and himself by laughing.

  “Yes, I… Certainly could be.”

  This time the quiet between them was more companionable, before he spoke again.

  “I…” He hesitated, still afraid even of voicing what he thought might have happened to Justice. “Ever since Fenris… Did what he did, ever since I woke up here, I haven't been able to feel Justice.”

  Merrill watched him patiently, allowing him to time to collect his thoughts and speak.

  “I'm afraid that he might have done something to him, but I don't know how. I just know that Justice is… That he feels gone, and I can't think of any other explanation.” He looked to her then, eyes plaintive. 

  “You said you can't feel Justice,” she said slowly, “How strongly did you feel him before? It always sounded as if the two of you… You always said you’d become one person.”

  “We thought together, acted together, but it was also… He could speak to me sometimes, could fight with me about what I was doing or feeling. I could communicate with him, and he would... Usually respond.”

  “And he's not doing that anymore?”

  “No,” Anders replied, sighing and looking away. “Not a single stray thought that isn't mine, not a crackle of blue across my skin. Nothing. It's so…” He made an aborted motion with his hands, frustrated. “Quiet in my head.”

  “That sounds-” Merrill hesitated, “Like it might be a little relieving.”

  “It’s not, believe me,” Anders replied bitterly. “It’s- Lonely is what it is.” He might have had his thoughts to himself for the first time in a decade but it wasn't… He couldn't enjoy it, knowing that something terrible had to have happened to Justice. 

  “And you think Fenris caused it?”

  “Well, I can think of no other explanation.”

  Merrill hummed thoughtfully and then said, “Is it possible that everything with the Chantry might have… I mean, that was the culmination of all your, ah, efforts, was it not? Is it possible Justice decided to leave, once it was done?”

  “No, that wasn’t- Wasn't how it was between us. Justice and I joined together so I could save him. But he wasn't able to leave, believe me he would have returned to the Fade the second he got the chance.”

  “Is it possible that that's what he did?” 

  Anders frowned heavily. He didn’t want to think of that day, though it hadn’t been so long ago. Didn’t want to relive the feeling of Fenris’ hand solidifying in his chest. But still he closed his eyes and tried to remember.

  Merrill waited beside him, patiently, until finally he opened his eyes again. He felt tears pricking at the corner of his vision, felt a lump in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t cry, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t upset.

  “I don’t know,” he said, very quietly. “It’s hard… It all happened so fast, after he said he would…”

  “Yes,” Merrill said, looking away. “None of us… I really thought he was going to kill you.”

  “I couldn’t see it but I thought- I thought I heard someone crying.”

  Merrill nodded, answering Anders unspoken question.

  “I know that you never really liked me much,” she said, and Anders was struck by how  _ familiar  _ the expression on her face was. “But I always liked you. I thought you were smart and funny and I was glad that you were trying to help the other mages.”

  He’d been arrogant and patronizing to her. He’d looked down on her and the only one of them who had treated her worse than he had had been Fenris, perhaps Hawke.

  “Even if Justice is gone... You shouldn’t feel alone. You’re not alone. I mean, maybe it’s just me and you and Isabela and Fenris but- But that’s still more than one person.”

  He knew that he could have been offended by her words. Justice had been not just a friend but an essential piece of him, and losing him was like losing a part of himself. But he also knew that Merrill was trying her hardest to comfort him.

  Even though he had known that all of the others would see him as a monster he had still gone through with his plans. His and Justice’s cause had been too important to be overlooked for something as shallow as his relationships.  _ Justice  _ had been more important.

  “Thank you for listening to me, Merrill,” he finally said and gave her a weak smile, “It feels good to know I still have some allies.” 

  She beamed at him then and he felt something warm slowly unfurl in his chest. 

  “Of course Anders,” she said, “That’s what friends are for.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos, I really appreciate them a lot!!
> 
> This chapter is based on that convo fenris and isabela have about how useful his markings would be.
> 
> yes. the toast one.

   Anders had eventually begun to take his meals in the mess hall with the other sailors even though it made him wary to be around other people. None of the others talked to him save Merrill who would sit next to him and Isabela who would make a stray comment or two. 

  Fenris said nothing to him, only staring into his back with those narrowed eyes of his. Anders hadn't spoken to him since their last fight and hadn't been interested in doing so.

  That evening he leaned against one of the back walls, trying to force himself to eat his salted pork and drink his ale. It was the first time he’d been allowed to drink in a long time, Justice had always disapproved, but he’d rather have had his friend back than all of the fresh, golden ale in Ferelden.

  “Hey, that was my hardtack-” One of the sailors had raised his voice and internally Anders rolled his eyes. It seemed they were always arguing about some stupid thing or another and he could not  _ wait  _ to see what this devolved into.

  “No, that was  _ my  _ hardtack, you already ate yours.” 

  Anders scanned the room for Isabela but didn't see her and frowned. Usually she shut these things down quickly enough but no one was stepping in to fill her absence. Taking a deep draught of his drink Anders leaned back and watched the other sailors warily, hoping things didn't go too far south.

  “You always do this,” the first sailor said, raising his mug and then slamming it down again. “Pretending like you don't take my toast when I just saw you-”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Anders saw the second sailor reach his hand down, curling into a fist. 

  “Well I'm not calling you a  _ truther _ ,”

  “I swear on my mother's grave-”

  “Oh yeah, just like you swore on it last week that you weren't cheating at cards when you obviously were,” a third sailor had chimed in, laughing. “‘Sides, everyone saw you take his toast just now.”

  There was a brief moment of tense silence before the original two sailors shouted out in unison:

  “You snitch!”

  “You dirty thief!”

  Suddenly they both stood up, each having pulled out a blade. Several of the other sailors had pushed themselves away from the table, obviously prepared for the fight that was about to go down. 

  Anders stood up, knuckles clenched white. He was not weaponless, as a mage he was never truly indefensible, but he didn’t feel comfortable stepping in either. Instinctively he looked to the other corner of the room and saw that Fenris had stood as well, a grimace on his face.

  Quickly, however, he looked away. Fenris was no longer his ally and they were no longer companions of Hawke. It was difficult to ignore ten years of working alongside him but Anders had to start somewhere.

  “Come on,” the third sailor started, “It’s not a big deal Figgis, we’ll just get you some more toast.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” the first sailor, Figgis, said. He squeezed the handle of his knife and then slightly relaxed his hand. “That was  _ my  _ toast you stole.”

  Toast. They were going to fight each other, probably to the death, over toast. Anders sighed. Had his life really come to this? He looked at Fenris again but this time it was to glare at him. Had it not been for him he would have either been dead or out in the wilderness around Kirkwall, quickly making his way as far away from the city as he could. In any case he wouldn’t have had to worry about watching someone be stabbed over some bread. 

  The second sailor yelled some noise of frustration and then charged the first one, the arm with the knife swinging wildly. Figgis shouted some profanity, dodging the first knife swing before slashing with his own. The other sailors crowded around them, forming a loose circle and began to cheer for one or the other.

  “We have to stop them,” he heard Fenris shout over to him. Anders just gave him a look, torn between agreeing with him and wanting to spite him.

  Suddenly Anders saw Isabela appear in the doorway to the mess hall, dark eyes blazing with barely restrained anger. She opened her mouth, inhaling deeply before shouting: “To order! All of you louts!” 

  Figgis, as well as most of the other sailors, turned towards her immediately. Unfortunately this left him open as the second sailor plunged forward, slamming his knife down into Figgis’ shoulder.

  He cried out, dropping to his knees from the sheer pain and shock. The second sailor raised his arm as if to attack again but was stopped when a dagger, sailing gracefully through the air, pinned his arm to the wall with his shirt.

  “Wha-” He started, only to be interrupted by Isabela stepping onto one of the chairs, her other knife in her hand.

  “Be quiet,” she hissed, “Now will someone explain to me what in the Void is going on?”

  Silence fell over the room until finally a gravely voice spoke up.

  “They were arguing. Over toast.” Fenris looked disgusted that he even had to say the words.

  Isabela, although clearly still angry, rolled her eyes. 

  “Sutherland, you’ll have three days in the brig for this. Axton, help Figgis up and we’ll get that knife out of him-”

  Anders stepped forward, ready to offer his healing, but stopped when Isabela shot him a look and said, very loudly, “And we’ll get him all nice and stitched up.”

  Frowning Anders nevertheless stepped back against the wall. He didn’t know why Isabela was stopping him but he imagined that her reasons were good.

  He watched as Sutherland, grumbling, was led away and Figgis was helped into a chair where he sat, shaking a little and bleeding. The knife appeared to have been stuck into the meat of his shoulder and though he said nothing Anders knew that he was lucky. Sutherland could have easily slipped the dagger between his ribs and instead of sitting on a chair Figgis would have likely bled out on the floor.

  Isabela hopped off her chair, striding over to where the remaining sailors were and said, “Hey, Fen, think I got a job for you.”

  Fenris grunted, obviously dreading whatever she was about to ask of him but walked to her side anyway.

  “Yes?” 

  “Remember that conversation we had a long time ago? About how useful your abilities would be for a situation like this?”

  Fenris sighed and then said, “Yes, unfortunately, I do.”

  “Well…”She turned to look at him, eyes wide, “Think you could give a girl a hand?”

  “I suppose,” he replied, turning to the man and holding up one hand.

  “W-Wait,” Figgis started, “What exactly is it he’s going to do to me?”

  “He’ll pull the knife out, a lot easier than any of these other brutes would, trust me.”

  Figgis frowned, looking as though he very much did not want to do that. Still he looked back up at Fenris, and then nodded once.

  Fenris activated the markings on his right hand and then stepped forward. Placing his left hand on Figgis’ shoulder for balance he phased his right through the man’s shoulder, grasping the knife and then cleanly pulling it out.

  Figgis groaned, slumping forward slightly before struggling to right himself. One of the other sailors thumped him gently on the shoulder and Fenris stepped away.

  “Okay, to stitch up-”

  “I can do it,” Anders said, stepping forward again and meeting Isabela’s eyes. “I’ve stitched up nastier wounds before.” 

  She looked at him for a moment before nodding and then turning to one of the other sailors. “Go get the needle and thread- And some hot water too.”

 

  Later that night Anders stood at the bow, watching the distant stretch of land as the ship ambled closer towards it. The moon was the only lighting but this far away from civilization it was shockingly bright. Idly he looked up at the sky, tracing the constellations. He’d known a few of them when he was younger but had lost most of that knowledge by now, only recognizing the belt off of the Hunter, hanging low in the sky.

  Behind him he heard someone walking towards him and was unsurprised when Isabela appeared at his side. She leaned over the railing, folding her arms and sighed quietly.

  “So,” Anders said, “Am I to assume none of the sailors know who I am?” He’d thought as much, but Isabela’s command that he not use magic earlier had confirmed it.

  “If they knew they would probably throw you overboard,” she said, chuckling humorlessly. “They just think you're another one of my scraggly friends.” 

  “Scraggly? I beg to differ,” He tried to smile at her but the look she returned him was frosty.

  “I'm serious,” she said, “I don't know how much any of them know- It all happened so fast and…” She looked off into the distance, eyes hard. “But it's best no one knows who you are.”

  “Of course,” he said, “That would be... Smart.”

  The silence that fell over them was decidedly uncomfortable and for once Anders wasn't sure how to break it. He was unused to Isabela acting this way around him, this coldness.

  “I can't believe that I find myself judging you for something,” she said without turning her eyes away from the sea. “And yet.”

  “I did what I had to do,” Anders grunted. It was hard to have arguments without Justice fueling him and suddenly he felt all of his years, all of his actions, weighing more heavily on him.

  “You know me,” Isabela said, “I think everyone ought to be free, mage or not. But what you did…”

  Anders didn't say anything but dug his fingernails deeper into his fists.

  Isabela heaved a deep sigh and then said, “I hate fighting over things like this. Hawke is an arsehole and so are the Templars.”

  “Yes,” Anders said, thinking that the word didn't do them justice. Even though he knew Isabela wanted to drop the subject he couldn't help but ask: “Why  _ did  _ you bring me on board? You could have easily left me to my fate in Kirkwall.”

  “I'm not that angry at you,” she snorted. After a beat she finished, “And Fenris… Asked me. To take you with us. I never could resist those puppy dog eyes.”

  Anders stared at her, face uncomprehending. “He did what?”

  “I always had a plan, if shit went down. And after years of fighting with Hawke I was able to afford my own boat, my own crew and then some. Fenris knew and after everything found me, not that it was that hard. He… He asked to go with me, and for me to help hide you. Merrill came because, well, that was always the plan.”

  He tore his gaze away from her in order to stare out onto the ocean, now almost inky black. Fenris had mentioned that he hadn’t been capable of killing Anders, nor of letting Hawke do it. But the lengths he had gone to shocked Anders.

  “I don’t understand,” he finally said and he could almost hear Isabela’s eye roll next to him.

  “Yes, you do. You’re not that blind.” 

  Frowning Anders turned back to her, “I don’t know what-” only to stop when Isabela leveled him a look.

  “You. Know. Why.”

  Anders swallowed and then looked away again, suddenly angry. 

  “Well, it’s not as if I know what to do with that information. So what if he- If Fenris likes me, or whatever. You have no idea what he’s done-”

  “Leaving you for Hawke? That was years ago. People fuck up Anders- Hell, I nearly destroyed Kirkwall myself.” She frowned fiercely at the memory and then said, “Although I didn’t  _ intend  _ to. But people… People…” She sighed and shook her head. “I hate it when someone makes me get all serious. The point is, nothing that he’s done is unforgivable.

  “How do you know that? You don't know everything.”

  “No, I don't Anders. I just…” She huffed out a breath. “I don't know. Maybe I don't know anything.”

  Anders sighed and shook his head.

  “I'm sorry, Isabela. Please just don't… Don't push me about it.” 

  “If you say so Anders,” she said, slowly beginning to turn away. “Thanks for the healing earlier, by the way.”

  “Of course,” he replied, turning away from her to stare back out onto the ocean. He couldn't hear her walk away this time but was unsurprised, Isabela was one of the best rogues he had ever met.

  A good woman, too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some short scenes to build a little character while aboard the ship.
> 
> Also, I always headcanoned that Anders had contact with mages outside of the Kirkwall Circle- the game exposes us to the Mage Underground very little but luckily there's fanfiction to fill in the blanks.

  There wasn't much for a warrior with no prior sailing experience to do aboard a ship and so Fenris quickly found himself becoming bored. He hadn't even been able to bring anything with him, save his armor, sword and the mage draped over his back. 

  Everything had occurred so quickly and he frankly hadn't been thinking about such things, too busy simply attempting to leave the city. 

  And now he was stuck on this ship, his only entertainments the items contained in his pockets and the other people on board, almost all of whom were problematic for one reason or another.

  A few of the sailors were good to play cards with but every time Fenris sat down to play a game he couldn’t help but feel the ghosts of past Wicked Grace or Diamondback games hanging over him.  Isabela and Merrill sometimes played too, reinforcing the strange nostalgia, but he never saw Anders join.

  Briefly he remembered their Diamondback games, how Anders almost always lost unless Fenris or Varric stepped in and cheated for him. And how he had always laughed about his poor luck. Fenris remembered, after they had begun their relationship, how Anders would look at him from above his cards, his eyes twinkling with affection and lust. They both knew what would come after they had finished their game and everyone else left and it only made the evenings that much more exciting.

  He remembered the nights that Anders or the others  _ didn't  _ come to his home and he didn't go out. The quiet nights, when he had longed to have someone sitting beside him.

  At first he had pictured Hawke fulfilling that role, had dreamed of it. 

  And now… Now he did not know.

  The other unfortunate thing about being stuck aboard a ship with little to entertain him was that it gave him far too much time to  _ think _ . Thinking about the past, worrying about the future and puzzling over his current situation. He hated all of it, but found himself doing it again and again, running circles in his head.

  Every so often he would go above deck to try to find something to distract himself with. The only problem with that was that he inevitably ran into Anders who seemed to spend all of his time there, flitting about.

  Not that Fenris could blame him. It was almost intoxicating to stand at the bow, letting the sea wind whip around him. It brought Fenris back to past sea voyages, all of which had been with Danarius. 

  He took a deep breath and then released it. No matter how the years passed he was still affected by just the name. He always would be.

  But now he was free-

_ And chained to another mage _ . He swallowed at the thought.  It wasn't the same, he reminded himself. 

  Turning to move away from the bow he stopped as he spotted Anders, staring out onto the horizon. He seemed to be doing much the same as Fenris.

  And then, as if he could feel Fenris’ eyes on him, Anders turned around.

  Their eyes met. Fenris expected a glare but instead watched as Anders turned his eyes away, looking flustered. 

  Flustered? No, it had to be something else.

  He took a step forward but then stopped himself. He had tried to talk to Anders several times but the mage always ignored him or shut down the conversation quickly. Slowly he moved back and just watched for a moment. Merrill padded across the deck, waving a little hand at Anders. 

  He smiled at Merrill and then said something to her that Fenris couldn't quite hear but which made her laugh. It was clear that he was going to ignore him, as he usually did. Fenris frowned but then looked away.

  There was no surprise in that, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt.

  Sighing he turned back to where he he had been leaning against the railing of the deck, training his gaze on the sea once more.

  Anders had been standing, lost in thought, when Merrill had ambled over to him. It was strange but Anders found himself enjoying her company much more than he had in Kirkwall.

  It made it easier, too, to deal with the hole left behind by Justice. Anders wasn't sure he would ever be whole again but reminiscing about their adventures together or magic or Ferelden made it seem more possible.

  “Anders!” She had called out excitedly, “Isabela says that she's seen some dolphins!”

  “Dolphins? What are those?”

  She laughed, a bright sound, “Oh you have to see them! They're incredible!” Merrill grasped his hand and he had to ignore the way Fenris’ gaze bored into him as Merrill dragged him to the front of the ship and pointed excitedly.

  “See, there.”

  Anders blinked, squinting a little and then gasped as suddenly one the creatures revealed itself, “What  _ are _ those?”

  They burst out of the water, one after another, their sleek grey bodies glistening wetly in the sunlight. Some of them called to each and then disappeared back beneath the waves.

  “That’s amazing,” Anders murmured, gaze transfixed, I’ve never heard of one of those, let alone seen one.”

  “Isabela told me about them and I've seen pictures in one of the books about the sea she has but I've never seen one in real life.”

  They continued to look for a moment and then all of a sudden three dolphins emerged from the water right next to the ship cackling and chortling together.

  Anders mouth dropped open and he moved further over the side, reaching out his hand instinctively as if he might touch them.

  “Incredible,” he heard behind him and he turned to see Fenris standing behind them, watching the dolphins with them.

  “Isn't it? It's beautiful,” Anders said without thinking. He laughed, a sound of delight, “They're keeping up with the ship!”

  Fenris’ eyes widened, obviously shocked and Anders realized he had forgotten his hatred for a moment.

  He had just been overwhelmed, he told himself, and thinking too much about the things that Isabela had told him.

  Quickly he looked away, heart pounding. Next to him Merrill continued to make delighted noises as the dolphins, either ignoring or unaware of the awkwardness that had just passed between him and Fenris.

  Swallowing heavily Anders tried to follow suit, to forget that, for even a moment, he had forgotten to hate the elf.

-

  Fenris paced his cabin, trying to not to give into despair. Today was the day that they would dock in Wycome and all he could think of was all of the mage’s threats to leave there.

  They had not spoken much to each other, unsurprisingly, and although Fenris hated it he knew better than to force his company on the mage. 

  If he had truly destroyed Anders’ spirit then there could be no forgiveness, no reconciliation. A part of him wondered if perhaps it would be better for him to let Anders go, if nothing could be done. He quickly shook his head, however, dismissing his thoughts.

  Once he might have followed Anders out of a sense of devotion or affection, but those no longer mattered in the face of what the mage had done. Fenris might be too weak to kill him or let him be killed but he could not simply let him wander away.

  He snorted humorlessly, knowing that if Anders truly wished to leave there was little he could do to stop him. What would he do, engage him in combat? Would he try to keep Anders chained to him, only to kill him in the process?

  No, Fenris could do none of those things. He could not undo what Anders had done in Kirkwall. He could not take back what he had done to Justice. He could not bridge the divide that now lay between them.

  He came to a stop before the small port window in his room, his breathing ragged not from the pacing but from his own swirling emotions. Closing his eyes he tried not to think of how helpless he felt, of how the feeling beckoned to other, darker times where he had been denied control over his own fate.

  Slowly he opened them again, staring outside. Land had been visible for some time now but they were quickly approaching it. It would be a matter of hours, if that, before they made it to land and docked.

  Suddenly he balled his hands into fists, unable to take any more. He refused to give into his brooding, refused to remain below deck. Energized, he turned around and moved to the door, wrenching it open and quickly moving out into the long, narrow hallway that would take him up to the deck.

  He could not stop Anders but he could- He could say his piece. He would make it clear that Anders was not going to escape him so easily. That he was not simply going to let go.

  Moving quickly up the stairs the deck and the ocean beyond it came into view. Around him sailors shouted to each other, almost all of them on hand in order to make the docking as smooth a process as possible. Nimbly Fenris dodged coils of rope and other hazards, his eyes trained on the tired, slouching form that stood at the bow of the ship.

  His chest tightened but he ignored it, refusing to let it hinder him. Now that he was set on this path he would not stray from it. 

  “Anders,” he said, stopping just short of standing next to the other man. He was facing away from Fenris, the seawind whipping his hair back away from his eyes and though it likely stung Anders did not look away from the shoreline.

  “Fenris,” he replied, still not looking back.

  “You mean to leave,” Fenris said, feeling sick. His tone came out calm, however, controlled. When Anders refused to say anything he stepped a little closer. “You had said that you would. Several times.”

  He watched as the healer's hands gripped the wooden railing, his fingernails digging into it.

  “I have,” he admitted.

  Fenris frowned, feeling disconcerted that he could not see the man’s face still. They often acted now as if the other did not exist but every so often one of them would slip up, would seem to forget all that now lay between them.

  It had happened when he had unthinkingly offered Anders a piece of his dinner as he often had in Kirkwall and Anders had taken it before realizing what he had done.

  It happened whenever Anders made a joke and looked to Fenris to see if he had made him laugh, forgetting his hatred.

  And it had happened with the dolphins, that single moment that they had looked at each other as if everything was alright.

  It was a sick feeling, to be so entwined with another person that hated him. It was even worse to forget, only to be reminded. 

  Fenris continued to stand there, feeling the ship roll under him, the seafoam flecking his face. He wanted to say something but though there was nothing more he could have possibly broken, still he was afraid.

  “I've reconsidered,” Anders said and then finally turned to look at Fenris, a sneer on his face, “Not that it is any business of yours.”

  Fenris blinked and then felt his breath catch as hope, unbidden and unwanted, bloomed in his chest. 

  “So you are staying?” Fenris asked.

  “Yes,” Anders said, “But only because the circle in Wycome is not…” He looked away and grunted, “I don't particularly care to discuss this with you.”

  Fenris frowned, about to rise to the bait when he stopped himself.

  “Wycome is not as welcoming of your ideas?” He asked instead, keeping his voice neutral.

  “Unfortunately,” Anders huffed, “Blasted idiots. It's one thing for the Templars to be a problem, they all are, but the mages in that Circle are almost all Loyalists. My efforts would be better focused elsewhere.”

  Fenris frowned, “You spent time in the Wycome Circle?” Anders had only ever spoken of Kinloch Hold and the Gallows.

  “No,” Anders said with a wave of his hand, “But I keep in contact with several Libertarians- Well, I suppose they were really Resolutionists.”

  Fenris blinked and stared at him, “I never… Knew this.” He’d known that he was involved in the Mage Underground but he had assumed that most of his activities were aimed at trying to free individuals or at best groups of mages. Of course there had been the Manifesto too but he had always brushed that aside as being pointless. After all, it was not as though many could have seen it.

  Could they?

  “Because I didn’t tell you, it’s not as if you had much patience for my… Activities.”

  “No,” Fenris admitted, “I still do not.”

  Anders grunted and then sighed. “At least you’re honest. I did always like that about you.” 

  Fenris wondered if the mage realized that he had complimented him. He certainly was not going to point it out. 

  “I should have known better,” he spoke again, his voice so soft that Fenris was having trouble hearing it above the crash of the sea below them. Likely Anders was talking more to himself than to Fenris anyway. “But I’ve always been a fool, in these things.”

_  These things _ . Fenris was afraid that he did not fully understand what Anders meant. That, perhaps, he did. 

  It had never been about love, or affection. He had been attracted to Anders and Anders had found something in him. There had been nothing more, not at first anyway.

  At least, not on his end.

  Sighing Anders turned away from the railing. “I’ll be belowdeck, don’t want to get in anyone’s way when we dock.” And then he was walking away, leaving Fenris standing alone at the bow, more confused now than ever.

-

  They departed from Wycome early in the morning two days later, only having intended to dock there for as long as it to took to unload cargo and replenish supplies. Anders spent as much of that time away from the others and belowdeck, trying not to think of how close freedom was.

  But it wouldn’t be freedom, not truly. He hadn’t lied to Fenris when he had told him that the mages of Wycome would not welcome him and it would be foolish of him to disembark in a city like that with no allies or connections. He had still seriously considered simply wandering off into whatever wilderness there was beyond Wycome but though he heard learned survival skills in the Wardens he wasn’t keen on having to use them.

  No, however much he might have hated it, it was for the best that he remain with the others. 

  Merrill at least was tolerable and after their conversation Isabela had warmed up to him again considerably. He still didn’t participate in card games with them and the other sailors but he was content to lean against the wall and sip his beer in the mess hall, occasionally making a comment or two. 

  And Fenris…

  Fenris was a problem that Anders prefered to sweep under the rug and then forget.

  As if he’d been doing such a good job of that in Kirkwall, he thought as he snorted to himself. 

  The man claimed that he would follow Anders to the end of Thedas, no matter what. Once upon a time the promise would have brought Anders to his knees, would have filled his heart with joy, to know that Fenris loved him so.

  But now it tasted like ashes in his mouth, for it was not out of love but duty. Fenris intended to follow him to- What- Make sure he did not hurt anyone else?

  Anders might have laughed but there was nothing amusing about it. He had not wanted to kill those people in the Chantry and although it had been necessary the death weighed heavily on him. 

  “Justice,” he whispered, feeling his eyes well with tears as he thought of what he had done. “Please, tell me it was necessary, tell me I was right.”

  For the first time in weeks he felt something stir within him, something that he was so certain was not himself. He sat, suddenly rigid as he waited for Justice to burst forth into life again, to reassure him, to bolster him. 

  And then, just as suddenly, it faded back into nothingness.

  Anders slumped in the chair he had been occupying, running his hands through his hair. Likely what he had felt had been nothing, just a figment of his hopeful imagination.

  He inhaled noisily and then exhaled, having become far too familiar with such disappointment. Justice was not coming back, and no amount of hoping or wishing was going to change that.

  “All the mages in the Circle,” he whispered to himself finally, “The apprentices. The little children.” He had taken to reminding himself of them in the days after the explosion. There had been many reasons for that final, devastating action, but in the end he had weighed the potential loss of lives and had gone with the smallest amount. 

  Hawke had sided with the Templars but it was better than just standing aside and letting Meredith go through with the Right of Annulment. And who was the say that Hawke had even won? Half of her companions had left her and while the Circle mages were generally untested they each held within them a great deal of power. 

  It was frustrating to know next to nothing but there was little to be done about that. All Anders had was his hope that, somehow the mages had won. And if they had not that at least some of them had survived. 

  Sighing he rose from his seat and began to pace the cabin. There was little for an apostate mage to do aboard a ship and he had left Kirkwall, or rather been carried away, with only the clothes on his back and the items in his pockets. Even his staff was gone, not that he felt safe practicing his magic here. 

  There was not much more for him to do above deck but it was better for him to stay down here, at least until they left Wycome. Sighing he got up and moved around, idly pacing, trying not to think. Not about his past or present and definitely, definitely not about his future.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rialto is finally reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rialto is definitely based on Venice. I also listened to this song: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOH84OSXepI) a lot while thinking about and writing this chapter.

  “Come Anders,” Merrill found him in the mess room and grasped his arm, tugging at it. “We’re close to Rialto and Isabela said we ought to watch it as we head in.

  He raised both eyebrows but nodded and got up to follow her, shoving some hardtack down his throat as he did so. 

   Quickly they hurried up the steps and moved to the foredeck. Anders shaded his eyes and squinted as he saw the coastline slowly coming closer and closer. 

  The wind at their sails was strong and quickly they began to be able to make out buildings and the shipyard as well as other vessels. 

  “I never got to see this when we came to the Free Marches,” Merrill said, “We had to stay down in the hold.”

  “Believe me, Kirkwall isn't much of a view.” Especially compared to Rialto.

  The very city itself seemed to glow with sunlight as it reflected off of the red-shingled roofs and white, frescoed walls of the buildings. The streets were laid out with blocks of limestone that gleamed brightly, making the town appear to sparkle, like a jewel on the coast. It was contrasted with the bluest ocean water that Anders had ever seen and as he leaned forward over the deck he could not help the grin that came over his face. It was possibly the most gorgeous place he had ever seen, the cliffs that rose high from the water beckoning the ship warmly. As they entered the city proper Anders found he could start to make out people and he silently marveled at how colorful their clothing was, how simply  _ beautiful  _ everything was. 

  “Isabela told me such lovely stories about Antiva,” Merrill said with an excited smile, “I never imagined though…”

  “No, I couldn't have either,” Anders replied.

  From behind them Fenris approached and Anders briefly looked back at him.

  “It is lovely,” Fenris added and slowly Anders nodded before looking away. A part of him felt torn, confused. He hadn't fully forgiven Fenris, wasn't sure that he ever could. But it was difficult for him to remain angry at him, for his judgement to not be clouded by their previous relationship. Sometimes he thought that he should have left at Wycome, just so he wouldn't have had to be around the elf. It was, Anders discovered, so much easier to remain hateful when he didn't have to look at him every day.

  Alongside their much larger vessel raced single man boats pushing themselves along with long oars. Some carried cargo, fruits and vegetables, wire cages with animals squawking inside them while others carried people.

  Suddenly one of the gulls which had been circling overhead swooped down, landing on the railing next to Merrill. She gasped as the thing cawed at her and then began to search through her pockets for some scrap of bread.

  “Merrill,” Anders said, chuckling, “Don't feed it, you'll only encourage it.”

  “But Anders-”

  “They are wretched creatures,” Fenris added behind them, even as he pulled out some hardtack and handed it to her.  “Always stealing food and carrying on.”

  “You're going soft,” Anders said dryly, and Fenris shot him a small smirk that did strange things to his heart.

  He cleared his throat and looked away quickly. Thankfully the beauty of the city went a long way towards distracting him from thoughts of Fenris or his own waning anger at him.

  Anders had tried avoiding him as much as possible though hadn't been nearly as successful he had wished to. Fenris would appear in the mess hall when he was eating, passing by him in the narrow corridors below deck or just glancing at him whenever they were both above deck.

  It was a small ship, he had told himself. But Rialto was large and much like Kirkwall appeared to be a maze of back alleys and rarely used streets. The waterways that snaked throughout the city would only help, Anders knew, when he finally decided to leave.

  Of course he would leave immediately. He just… Wanted to say goodbye to Isabela and Merrill first. 

  He hadn't recognized until a few days ago just how much their friendship had helped, after he had lost Justice. It still hurt, he suspected that it always would, but the wound seemed a little less tender to him.

  “Okay you three,” Isabela said as she sauntered over to them, “Go grab your things and make sure you're dressed appropriately.”

  They had immediately set sail after the Chantry explosion and while news was certain to have spread far and wide it was impossible to say with any certainty what other information was being disseminated.

  It was suspicious, of course, that Fenris, Isabela and Merrill had all left. Whether Hawke would suspect that Anders had survived and, what was more, that her former companions were harboring him was another question entirely.

  Anders knew it was far-fetched and had told Isabela as much, but still she insisted that he cover his appearance as much as possible. 

  “Besides,” she had said, “You’ll likely burn, as pale as you are.”

  He had already burned several times from staying above deck too often, as had Merrill, but instead of tanning he simply got redder and more painful.

  And so he donned a cloak, pulling the hood as far over his face as it could go. He’d lost his staff and while it would have been beneficial for him to get a new one as soon as they docked he wasn't overly hopeful. 

  Marching back up to the deck he watched as the boat finally, gently docked. Isabela’s sailors began to work furiously, as if attempting to expend all of the energy they had built up over the voyage. It was incredible to watch them all, the ones quickly climbing up ropes and furling up sails. Others threw thick bundles of rope overboard and distantly Anders heard someone announcing that they were about to drop the anchor.

  He remembered the first time he had been aboard a ship, the long dark journey to Kirkwall. Then, just as now, he had been uncertain about his future, only knowing that he needed to escape his past.

  And yet things felt completely different. The buildings, the people, the very air here was so removed from what Kirkwall had been.

  Anders knew it was foolish but, even as he drew his hood further over his face and began to descend the plank, he felt hope bloom in his chest.

  
  


  Around them people jostled and pushed and yelled and laughed, the very picture of a dockside market. Fenris smelled fish, just barely beginning to rot under the bright heat of the sun as well as a multitude of others smells he did not care to recognize. Unable to help himself his nose wrinkled in disgust and he hoped that, wherever they were going, it would be far away from the docks.

  He had never been to Rialto, or Antiva in general, but he imagined that it was like any other large city. The people here certainly seemed more colorfully dressed than those in Kirkwall but he imagined the differences ended there.

  In front of him walked Anders and Merrill, both of whom were openly staring in wonder at the city and he frowned. They couldn't have been more obvious about being new, and in turn, easy pickings.

  Well, he thought as the two mages excitedly discussed everything they were seeing, they were far more capable than they appeared.

  “Isabela,” Merrill had turned around to look back where Fenris and the rogue were walking. “Please, can we ride one of those boats? I've never ridden in something like that before and- Oh- Do you think people just travel all other the city in them?”

  “They do,” Isabela replied with an easy smile, “Most of the travel here is through the waterways. I think we ought to find where we’ll be staying first, however.”

  Though Merrill looked disappointed she nodded and said, “Of course, and  _ then  _ we'll all go riding on those boats. Ooh, I wonder if they would let me steer with one of those long oars...”

  Anders picked up the thread of conversation there and Fenris took the opportunity to give Isabela a sideways glance. 

  “Where, exactly, are we going?”

  “I know a guy who owes me a few favors- He runs a shop in the nicer part of the city and has an apartment above it we can stay in.”

  Fenris frowned and, rolling her eyes, Isabela asked, “I’m sorry it's probably less rotted than you're used to but we can set out some moldly fruit to make you feel more at home.”

  “I merely worry about such a contact's loyalty. Who is to say that he will not sell us out?”

  “The man knows better than to do that to me, believe me," she replied with a laugh.

  “Who, exactly, is this man?”

  Isabela was quiet for a moment then, her lips pursed as she thought.

  “Someone I ran with when I was a part of the Fesliscima Armada.”

  “Another pirate. Wonderful,” Fenris intoned. 

  “He's a family man now. Besides, I grew on you.”

  “Rather like a mold,” he replied and was rewarded with a smirk from Isabela and a chuckle from Anders that the mage quickly covered with a cough.

  Both of them had become rather proficient at pretending the other didn't exist but they would slip up, on occasion, just as Anders had now.

  Fenris supposed it was for the best, as he still was not capable of forgiving Anders for what he had done. And Anders, he knew, would never forget what  _ he  _ had done to Justice, intentionally or not.

  Still, every time he thought of this new relationship with the mage, this tension, his heart hurt. 

  Every time he watched Anders tease Merrill or joke with Isabela he felt his gut clench. Anger that Anders could act so carefree after what he had done, pain that the mage would never act that way towards him again and, of course, irrational jealousy. 

  He knew that there was no romantic interest there, that it was laughable to even entertain such ideas. But then his traitorous heart would remind him of how laughable  _ their  _ relationship had been. 

  Fenris hated his heart and he hated these feelings. He told himself that he hated the mage now too, even if the truth of it was painfully obvious. 

  “See what I told you Merrill? They'll never leave us alone now.”

  Anders’ words brought him out of his thoughts immediately, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword, until he realized they were talking about the seagulls.

  Foolish, he thought. Irreverent. 

  “You could  _ try  _ not to draw attention to us with your talking and gesticulating,” Fenris said with a severe frown. “Or have you forgotten why we were forced to come here?”

  Anders stiffened immediately and turned around to argue. A dark satisfaction burned inside of Fenris at the sight, as he prepared himself for the verbal sparring. 

  “To see the sights, of course,” Isabela cut in, “Rialto is such a beautiful city.”

  Fenris watched as Anders paused, mouth still parted, and then looked away. His voice falsely cheerful he said, “Much better than Kirkwall or Denerim. I haven't seen any mud.”

  “Do you think it'll be a problem, not knowing any Antivan?” Merrill asked with a frown. 

  “Most Antivans know Common as well- though sometimes they pretend not to,” Isabela said with a snort. 

  “It's pretty similar to Tevene, isn't it?” Anders asked.

  “Few in Tevinter actually speak Arcanum,” Fenris said, “They mostly just borrow phrases from it to look,” he couldn't help as his lips curled into a sneer, “cultured.”

  “Oh that's too bad,” Merrill cut in, “What I've heard of it sounds very pretty.”

  “It is not,” Fenris said, and he must have sounded particularly short because Isabela gave him a warning look. “Not much from that culture is.”

  “But don't you miss it at least a little? It is your homeland.  _ I  _ miss my clan and they never really liked me much.”

  Fenris bit down on his inner cheek hard, trying to remind himself, as he had for the past decade, that the others would never truly understand. That they couldn't possibly know the damage they did with their words.

  “I do not,” he finally said, ignoring the way that Anders was watching him, eyes curious. “There is nothing there worth missing.”

  Isabela, as if sensing the way the conversation had turned, said, “We're getting close, just over that bridge there.”

  Fenris said nothing though he was thankful for Isabela’s interference. 

  They made their way over the low stone bridge which led to a busy market street that reminded him strongly of the Hightown market. The buildings here were noticeably nicer, freshly whitewashed with gleaming, shingled roofs. The vendors still hawked most of the same things, fish, vegetables, armor and weapons but Fenris also saw stalls overflowing with rich fabric and cart after cart of wine. 

  They all followed Isabela now who finally stopped in front of a store that appeared to be selling herbs and medical tinctures.

  “Wait outside for a second,” she said and then entered the building without waiting to see if she would be obeyed. 

  Fenris sighed and leaned against the side of the building, pushing his cloak back over his shoulders. Even for someone like him it was uncomfortably warm and he idly looked over at Anders and Merrill. 

  Both of them were a little red-faced but other than that looked fine. Likely the cloaks had protected them from being burned,  _ again _ .

  “That's an odd herb to be selling,” Anders muttered as he looked through the window into the store. “More a poison than a-”

  He was interrupted by Isabela coming out of the shop quickly, dangling two small golden keys from her hand. 

  “Well,” she said, “That was easier than I expected.”

  Fenris raised an eyebrow and asked, “I thought he was an old friend.”

  “Oh yes, of course,” she replied breezily, beginning to make her way towards the back of the building where a long, rickety flight of stairs sat waiting to take them to their destination. “An old friend, owes me a favor or two.”

  Fenris grunted in disapproval but otherwise said nothing. The fact that they had a place to stay was more important than the how of it. Besides, he knew that Isabela would only deflect if he pushed for further details.

  The apartment, from the looks of it, had not been used recently but it also looked much better than Fenris had been anticipating. It was small, but all he had to do was think of Kirkwall and the rotting mansion he had lived in to feel thankful for this.

  “Finally.” He heard Anders mutter behind him and turned to see the mage stripping off his cloak. His face was very red now and Fenris watched with an almost unnatural attention as one stray drop of sweat dripped down his face. Anders looked at him then, their eyes meeting for a moment, before Fenris quickly looked away.

  “It is rather warm here, isn't it?” Merrill quickly divested herself as well and then fanned her face vigorously. 

  Isabela chuckled, shaking her head and made some comment about poor, delicate mages. Fenris turned away, not wanting to get drawn into conversation, and began to explore the rest of the apartment.

  There was the main room they had entered into and just off of it what looked like a food preparation area. From there a very narrow hallway led him to a small washroom and a single bedroom. It was all furnished at least and as Fenris began to lean his sword against the wall he considered that this might not be the worst place to lay hidden for a few weeks.

  What came after that, he did not know. The mage had shocked him by not trying to escape when they had docked in Wycome and he had come with them willingly enough here.

  Sitting on one of the beds in the small room he tested the bounce of it and then, with a sigh, laid down. It was strange to finally be on dry land again after so many days at sea and while he still felt a little wobbly lying down seemed to help.

  “The girls are going to the market to get food since there's none here.”

  Fenris jumped up immediately at the sound of the voice and looked to see Anders standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He appeared extremely unhappy about the fact that he was now trapped, alone, with Fenris. 

_ Good _ , the warrior thought. After everything he had done Anders deserved to feel uncomfortable. 

  “I am certain that they will be back shortly,” Fenris replied. 

  “Yes,” Anders said. He continued to stare at Fenris as if waiting for something but the elf couldn’t have said what. There was nothing for him to say. Finally, however, the mage huffed out a breath and turned away as if to leave. “I’m going to open up some of the windows,” he threw back over his shoulder. “It’s far too pretty and sunny here to keep them closed.”

  It was exactly the sort of comment he would have made, before. The sort of unnecessary, nattering talk that Fenris had grown to love. It was strange to hear it now, and while a part of him was angered by it another, undeniable part of him was grateful. 

  He tried to lie down again but even as he closed his eyes he knew that sleep would evade him. Every time Anders moved in the other room Fenris’ ears would twitch, straining to hear what was going on. Finally he got out of the bed, moving over to his pack and digging through it until he found what he wanted.

  Wandering into the main room he frowned at what he saw. Anders was sitting by the windows, his arms folded on the sill. He appeared to be watching the city but the expression on his face told Fenris that he was somewhere far away.

  “Mage,” he said and watched as Anders jumped.

  “What do you want?” He asked, eyes narrowed.

  “I am bored,” Fenris said and then held up the pack of cards he had found in his bag. “Solitaire is not enough to keep my attention.”

  Though he spent a moment or two looking as though he was going deny him Anders finally nodded.

  “There's going to be a lot of this, I suppose, what with us having to stay up in here. Hopefully Isabela can listen for news of what happened. Maybe Hawke was even killed in the-”

  Fenris had begun to deal but froze at Anders’ words.

  “Be quiet,” he hissed. “Hawke is still alive.” He took a deep breath and then released it, reminding himself that Hawke was fine. 

  “I forgot that you love her,” Anders said as Fenris resumed his dealing. “Even after what a bitch she was to you.”

  “I know you have problems with taking instruction,” Fenris said, teeth gritted, “And I am aware silence does not come easily to you. But for the love of the Maker could we not speak of Hawke?”

  This seemed to keep Anders quiet. For a moment.

  “I know you loved her and her anti-mageyness but she really was terrible to you. Do you think I've forgotten any of those comments she made? Isabela told me she joked about giving you back to Danarius.”

  “Hawke had a strange sense of humor.” And maybe Fenris never quite understood it but if that was the case it was his fault, not hers. “And her ‘anti-mageyness' as you call it proved to be the right path, especially after what  _ you _ did.”

  Anders face went beet red and for a moment he was completely silent. He looked down at his cards and played one and for a second Fenris thought he might have won.

  “Do you want to know why I did what I did? Besides the obvious, moral reasons?” His voice was quiet and deathly serious.

  “Yes, I would like an explanation for why you killed all those innocent people.” Fenris couldn't help the sarcasm in his voice, the outrage that Anders would try to justify his actions.

  “They were going to perform the Right of Annulment. Do you know what that is, Fenris?”

  “Do not patronize me,” he warned, though Anders had asked it as a genuine question.

  “They were going to kill  _ everyone _ . Not just people like me but innocent people,  _ children _ . I fought…” He leaned back and suddenly Fenris could see the bone deep exhaustion, etched as it was into the lines of his face. “For ten years. Ten years I tried for a peaceful solution. Had I not heard about the rite I might have gone ten more, or twenty, or until I died. But when I discovered what Meredith was doing I couldn't… I couldn't just stand by.”

  Fenris sat there, staring at him. It was still wrong, what he had done, but if what he was saying was true…

  “No,” he said, more to himself than to Anders. “There is no justification for… For such things.”

  “Would you not have taken the opportunity to strike at the heart of Tevinter, if you could? If you could save the lives of countless slaves?”

  “It is not comparable,” he replied with gritted teeth. “I will never be the monster you have become.”

  Anders stared at him, eyes strangely sad. “I hope you never find yourself in a situation where you have to be.”

  Before Fenris could reply he heard the sound of feet on the rickety stairs outside. 

  “The girls are back,” Anders said and slowly began to stack the cards together again. “I suppose we  _ tried  _ to have a civil game of cards.”

  Fenris didn't seem to hear him but Anders didn't particularly care to repeat himself. The entire conversation had been painful and he hoped that the elf didn't ask him about it in the future.

  Which meant, of course, that he was absolutely going to do so.

  The door opened and Anders stood to help take some of the items jumbled together in their arms. He and Merrill took the food to the kitchen, beginning to organize it, but Anders still heard Fenris ask Isabela something.

  “Any news?” His voice was so low now it was nearly impossible to hear but Anders strained to listen.

  “Everyone has heard by now,” she murmured back to him and Anders felt a flash of irritation that they weren't telling him any of this.

  “What of Hawke?”

  “She sided with the Templars of course,” Isabela said and then hesitated. Anders could almost feel as her eyes moved to look at him. “It was a slaughter,” she finally said, quietly.

  Anders carefully set down the apple he had been about to place in the cupboard, his hand trembling. He should have stayed behind, should have fought Hawke, should have protected the other-

  He didn't even realize he had turned around, hands fisted tightly. He was staring at Isabela, waiting.

  “Were there any survivors? Anything at all?”

  “Some, according to what I heard, anyway. But both Orsino and Meredith were killed.”

  “Meredith too?”

   Isabela looked away for a brief moment and then very slowly said, “There are… Strange stories coming out of Kirkwall.”

  “Such as?” Fenris asked.

  “About that red lyrium we found in the Deep Roads- Meredith supposedly… She had a sword made out of it and it…” She sighed and shook her head. “It all sounds like such nonsense but there's no telling with  _ that  _ city.”

  “Could we contact Varric?” Merrill asked, “He’d know better than anyone here and I think we could…”

  “No,” Fenris said with a frown, “It is too great of a risk.”

  “But is there any hint at all that people think I'm alive?” Anders asked. 

  “No, everyone is very sure you’re dead. Apparently the Champion announced it.”

  She had probably been overjoyed, Anders thought. He looked out the windows to the bustling city below and wondered how many people in Kirkwall, how many people across the Free Marches, had joined her in cheering for his apparent death.

  It hurt, he could not deny that. But he had done what was necessary. Justice was no longer there to remind him of it but Anders could be strong enough for himself. He would have to be.

  “Anything else the Champion announced?” He was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  “ _ If  _ the rumors are to be believed- And I don’t know that half of them are- Then-” Isabela took a deep breath and then continued, “She intends to become the Princess of Starkhaven and annex Kirkwall.”

  “ _What?_ ”

  “ _Excuse me?_ ”

  Merrill frowned deeply as both Anders and Fenris shouted at the same time.

  “Wait- Explain,” Anders started, trying to determine how any of that fit together.

  “I mean, you saw how she was with Sebastian towards the end,” Isabela muttered. “And now that the Chantry is gone, well…”

  “I do not believe this,” Fenris said, “Sebastian would not- With Hawke-” He shook his head, “Sebastian also believes Anders to be dead. There is so reason for him to threaten Kirkwall.”

  “Unless if Hawke wants Kirkwall- And Starkhaven- For herself.” Anders grumbled.

  “Even you are not that cynical,” Fenris rounded on him, “You did not like Hawke, but-”

  “Dislike? You really were too busy staring at her with your puppy-dog eyes to pay attention. Dislike doesn’t cover half of what I felt for that woman.”

  Fenris clamped his jaw shut, tightly, and turned back to Isabela.

  “We will listen for more rumors- More information. Not everything that has come out of Kirkwall could be correct.”

  “Right,” Isabela finally said, her eyes moving between Fenris, who was refusing to let the conversation continue, and Anders, whose face had turned red in indignation. “That… Seems like a plan.” 

  She moved past the two of them, Merrill following close behind her. Anders knew that the two were leaving because of his and Fenris’ arguing and he couldn’t help but look up and glare at the elf. 

  The door to the other room shut loudly and in the silence that followed Anders said, “You don’t know Hawke the way that I knew Hawke.”

  Fenris stared back at him, meeting his gaze. In all of their arguments, even minor disagreements, he’d been so proud. Unwilling to give Anders even an inch, not that the mage would have given him anything either. 

  “Perhaps not. And perhaps Hawke saw you for what you really were.”

  “She saw the staff at my back and never looked beyond it- Just like Sebastian, just like all those bloody Templars, and just like you.”

  “You have proven yourself to be dangerous enough to warrant such suspicion. You forfeited the right to complain after you destroyed the Chantry and Hawke will-”

  “Hawke will what?” Anders asked when Fenris suddenly cut himself off. “Hawke will  _ what _ ?”

  “I cannot… Pity you,” Fenris said, his voice quiet, as if he were speaking more to himself. Suddenly he looked extremely uncomfortable, his face twisted into a grimace that almost looked painful.

  “I don’t expect that, or want that from you,” Anders replied anyway. It unnerved him, to see Fenris like that, and he moved past him to stand at the window so that he wouldn’t have to watch. “Don’t get why you’ve allowed me to live though,” he said. “I can’t imagine you’re saving me just for Hawke, though I guess I’ve been wrong about you before.”

  All of the ways in which he’d misjudged Fenris nagged at him. All of the times he had hoped, and been disappointed, burned.

  “That is not what I am doing here.”

  “Then what is it?”

  The answer Fenris gave him now was no more satisfying than it had been all of the other times that Anders had asked him. 

  “Making sure that you do not do any more damage.” 

  “It seems like it would be easier just to lock me up.” Of course, Anders would never let that happen, not again. No, he knew, if he were ever captured, that he would likely face a fate worse than death. And besides, he’d be damned if he didn’t die a free man.

  “Most likely,” Fenris said, “Although I imagine you would find some way to escape again. You seem rather good at it.”

  Anders snorted and then caught himself. “Was that a joke?” He asked, suspicious.

  “Merely a statement of fact. You’ve managed to evade Templars from two Circles and the Wardens.”

  “The Wardens did not care to come after me,” Anders said after a moment. “More trouble than I’m worth, I suppose.”

  “I can sympathize.”

  “You’re an ass, you know that?” Anders looked back at him, frowning and then shook his head. There was a long moment of silence until, finally, he said, “If you still have that deck I suppose we can play another round.”

   Fenris looked back at him for a long time, his face unreadable. And then, finally, he nodded. "Yes, I think that would be good."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I appreciate all of the comments and kudos!!

  Fenris had come to understand a long time ago that hiding was never nearly as romantic as Varric’s books made it sound. There was the occasional excitement when one of Danarius’ goons would catch up to him and he would have to kill them and then run again but between those times he was often left with simply waiting.

  Waiting for the slavers to find him again. Waiting for someone to rat him out for the generous bounty that had been placed on his head. Travelling involved walking or riding in carts which was something but the scenery would quickly grow repetitive and dull and, usually too cautious to travel with anyone else, Fenris would be treated to long silences. 

  But he was a patient man and while he had never enjoyed sitting around idly he suffered it better than most.

_ Especially  _ the mage.

  One would think that Anders had been locked away in a tower again. He tried to be subtle and tried to preoccupy himself but he still spent a good amount of time pacing and sitting at the window, face set in a fierce scowl. Often he would make a comment about needing to help the other mages, to get back out there. Sometimes Fenris picked up the bait and started a ferocious argument and sometimes he ignored the mage. Anders always seemed to hate the silence more.

  Every time Merrill and Isabela came back he would scramble up from where he had been sitting and beg them for news. It didn't change much from day to day, until a few weeks after they had first entered the apartment.

  “Hello you two,” he said, moving around in the kitchen. He had picked up cooking, or rather attempted to as a way to make himself useful and kill time. Unfortunately he was terrible at it and often Merrill or Fenris himself found themselves having to intervene to save a dish. Anders had started on some fish curry and he was just getting to the stage, the smell of burnt meat in the air, cursing from the mage, where Fenris would step in.

  “Hello,” Merrill said and quickly hid the pained expression when she saw that Anders was trying to make dinner again. “Oh that looks- Uhm, very good Anders.”

  “Thank you,” he said, with a lack of self-awareness that was breathtaking. “It's fish with rice and this pepper sauce. I think it'll be very good.”

  “Oh I'm sure it will be,” she replied and then sent a desperate look Fenris’ way. He nodded subtly and moved into the kitchen, picking up one of the wooden spoons.

  “So,” He said, turning his back on the fish and giving Fenris an opportunity to swoop in and save it. “Any news?”

  Fenris was listening idly when he heard Isabela say, “The Circles in Rivain and Wycome have risen up and people are whispering about the ones here doing the same. And the Templars…”

  Fenris turned around and watched as a multitude of expressions crossed Anders’ face. Pride and pain and regret and, Maker damn him,  _ hope _ . 

  “The Templars will put them down, I am certain,” Fenris said and ignored the scathing look that Anders sent him.

  “Or the mages will finally have their freedom,” Anders replied, his eyes alight. “I never imagined to effect any change beyond Kirkwall but…”

  “The mages are not the only ones with thoughts towards rebellion,” Isabela said. “The Templars are threatening to break away from the Chantry as well.”

  “Why? They have every privilege, all the power  _ because  _ of the Chantry.” Anders crossed his arms over his chest, his voice almost a growl. Fenris had not been certain what effect Justice’s absence would have on his personality. But he supposed he had hoped for Anders to become less radical, less hungry for change and whatever chaos came with it.

  He had been wrong and it made him terribly sad. Slowly he turned back to the fish, removing it from the fire and trying not to consider just how hard he had hoped that Anders would change, perhaps back to how he had been when they…

  “I need to get out of here,” he heard Anders saying. “I need to help them. I started this revolution and I can't abandon them now.” Fenris’ hand tightened around the wooden spoon and he heard it creak slightly, as if from the pressure.

  “But first,” Merrill said, “Perhaps you should eat?” Her voice was soft and when Fenris turned around he saw that she had placed her hand on Anders’ shoulder and was rubbing small circles there.

  “Yes,” Anders said, sighing quietly, “Dinner first.”

  He turned around just as Fenris went back to the fish, forcing all of his attention there. He'd spent the past few weeks alternately threatening and growling at Anders in order to make him stay and Merrill had just… Talked to him.

  Suddenly he was reminded of  a conversation he and Anders had once had long ago, in happier times. They’d been sitting in his mansion, comfortably situated between the fire, and as often happened late at their night their conversation had turned very private.

  Fenris had asked him about his escape attempts, genuinely curious but also expecting a good story. What Anders had told him instead had broken his heart and, though he would have denied it, he thought he might just have fallen for him a little that night.

  It was also the first time Anders had ever spoken about Karl beyond the stray comment.

  “I didn't run, when I had Karl,” He had said, staring off into the distance as he appeared to relive his youth. “I didn't need to, didn't want to. He was… Everything. Kind and patient and… The Circle was never a home to me, but with him it felt less like a prison.”

  Fenris had wondered at the fact that such a man had been made Tranquil. He knew better than to ask Anders about it, however.

  “And then they shipped him off,” Anders said, voice so terribly quiet. “It wasn't enough that we would never truly have a life together, a home or family. Even the whispers and the quick exchanges were too much. So they put an ocean between us.”

  “And even that was not enough,” Fenris said, marveling. “Still, you came for him.”

  “It took me an awful long time,” Anders said with a snort, “Though… Yes. I did. Eventually.”

  They both knew that he’d been too late but Fenris said nothing. What Anders had done, he couldn't imagine most people getting half as far. At the time he had wondered if he would ever love anything as much as Anders had clearly loved Karl.

  He knew now that he could. And, much like Anders, he feared that he’d been too late.

  “Fenris,” he heard Anders sigh impatiently, and it dragged him from his thoughts, “You really don't need to help me with dinner- I have it under control.”

  “Apologies,” he said and stepped away, earning him a wary look from the mage. “Please, go ahead. It smells very good.”

  Anders paused, as if he wanted to say something, but just shook his head. “I guess if everyone wants to get plates,” he murmured, removing the rice from the fire as well. 

  “Here, let me,” Merrill said as she stepped beside him and began to roughly cut section of the flatbread she and Isabela had bought at the market. “They dip this in with the sauce,” she murmured and Anders smiled at her.

  “Thank you, that’s a good idea.”

 

  Between Anders, Isabela and Merrill dinner was rarely quiet and the four of them often played cards afterwards. Both Fenris and Merrill would often drift away to read what few books they had purchased in the city and Isabela would occasionally disappear into the night. What she did, exactly, no one asked, knowing better than to.

  Like so many other nights since they had come to Antiva Fenris found himself abed early. Sleep was a luxury and he had the haunting conviction that there would be very little of it in the future. Besides, they had so little else to do at the moment and he would often find himself sleeping from sundown to well past sun-up. 

  At some point he awoke, at first drowsy and slightly confused before suddenly he found himself wide awake. 

  Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around the room, remaining as still as possible beneath the sheets. His sword was just a step away but he wasn’t yet certain what had awoken him. His gaze moved over the four beds in the little room, taking stock of his companions. Isabela’s was empty which was normal while Merrill lay, apparently still fast asleep, in hers. And Anders-

  Was empty. 

  Fenris vaulted up out of bed as quietly as he could, not yet wanting to disturb Merrill. Perhaps Anders and Isabela had gone out somewhere? 

  Or Isabela was gone for the night and Anders had finally made good on his threat to escape.

  Immediately Fenris thought back to their conversation a few nights ago after they had learned that several of the other Circles had attempted to rise up. They had begun to hear news of the Templars brutally suppressing any and all resistance and every night that Isabela and Merrill came home with the same news Fenris had watched the fire in Anders’ eyes grow.

  And now his bed lay empty. Fenris creeped over to it, his footsteps silent, and pressed his hand against the sheets.

  Cool, as if a body had not lain there for sometime.

  He swallowed and then carefully creeped back to his own bed. Quickly he donned his armor and then shouldered his sword. If he was going to have to go hunting that night he wished to be prepared.

  Just before leaving the room he threw a look over his shoulder at Merrill who continued to lay there, the soft sound of her breathing the only noise in the room. She could help him but he was equally worried that she might try to stop him if he went after Anders. Not only had she grown close with Anders but he had overheard her telling Anders the other night that what he had done was right, trying to save the mages of Kirkwall.

  Gritting his teeth he opened the door and then slipped out of the room, slowly making his way through the rest of the small apartment. He did not need any help to find Anders and he certainly did not need any hindrance. 

  Carefully his eyes scanned the other room and the kitchen, searching out any sign that might explain the mage’s disappearance. It was so quiet he could hear the steady thump of his heart in his chest but he blocked it out, his ears primed for any other noise.

  He saw nothing and so made his way to the front door, opening it and stepping out onto the rickety staircase outside. For a moment he paused, as if waiting for something, and then heard a familiar voice above him curse.

  Whipping around and half-drawing his sword he looked up to see Anders sitting on the roof of the building and scowling at him.

  “Can’t a man have some time alone to think? Or even just to wank?” He asked, voice dripping with derision. 

  “I-” Fenris said, still startled. He recovered quickly enough however, letting go of his sword and crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you doing up there in the middle of the night?”

  “Taking in the view,” Anders replied, “ _ Alone _ .”

  His message was clear, but still Fenris moved to the railing of the staircase. The mage had probably scrambled up it and onto the roof and he almost smiled at the image in his mind’s eye.

  Almost.

  Instead what he did was to try and replicate his movements, moving his sword back inside the apartment before carefully climbing up onto the railing and then pulling himself onto the roof.

  Anders watched him with a frown but just moved over slightly when Fenris finally managed to sit down beside him.

  Even this late at night much of Rialto was still lit up and Fenris observed several merrymakers wandering through the streets, many of them drunk and singing lewd songs. Others looked as if they might be heading home, likely those who worked in the taverns and brothels that littered the city. 

  “It’ll be Satinalia soon,” Anders said after an extended silence, “I’ve heard the Antivans take it very seriously.” 

  “I have heard they use it as an excuse to party for a week, including any of the debauchery one might hope to see.”

  “I really don’t think the Antivans need an excuse to be debauched or to party,” Anders said and chuckled, “But yes, I have heard the celebrations are quite… Exuberant.” 

  “It would be a shame,” Fenris said slowly, “If you were to miss them.”

  He knew that Anders had turned to look at him but Fenris just kept staring out into the city.

  “Yes,” Anders said, finally, “It would be. I think… Maybe… I might stay. Just for that. Of course, after that I would go back to my cause. I did have some contacts in the other Circles and I imagine I could follow up with them...”

  “And miss First Day?”

  “I can’t just stay here forever, you know,” he replied with a huff. “I have important things to do. Justice may be gone but I still…”

  “But you are still determined to go down that path,” Fenris said, and his heart was sick with the knowledge that nothing he did or said would truly be able to stop Anders. He turned to look at the man and wondered if he would be able to let him go, knowing what he had done and what he was capable of. 

  He wondered, too, if he would be able to kill him. No one in the rest of Thedas had any idea of the horrors of the Imperium and while Anders was no Magister it was very possible that he was leading Southern Thedas down the road to such a fate. 

  Fenris tried to remind himself that Anders was only one man. And then he thought of the Chantry, of Hawke, of all that she had been capable of.

  “Yes,” Anders said, staring back at him in the dark. “There is nothing you can do to turn me away from it. You really don’t-” He barked out a harsh laugh, “You really have no idea, how much I’ve survived to get to this point. I’m not giving up now.” 

  “Who do you think, of the two of us, is the most tenacious?” Fenris asked after a beat.

  “Is that your way of asking me which of us is going to win?”

  “Perhaps,” Fenris said, “And perhaps I was only looking for an honest answer.”

  “Fine,” Anders replied, though he still gave Fenris a funny look. “You want my honest opinion? I’ve made it through a lot of bad shit. And you? But you’ve made it through some terrible things too. I don’t know if I could have gotten to Kirkwall, had I been in your position.”

  Fenris was frankly stunned and, though Anders could not have been able to see very well he still gave Fenris a low smile.

  “Don’t act so shocked- I hate you but I still-” He bit off the last of his sentence, quickly looking away. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

  Fenris strongly disagreed but he didn’t push Anders to continue.

  “You probably could’ve made it to Kirkwall had you been in my place. Probably would’ve gotten Karl out, alive, too. But there is one difference between us, now.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I have a cause, a righteous one. When I was younger all I cared about was my own freedom, but Justice showed me a different way. I wasn’t wrong, but I was selfish. And you- You still haven’t looked past yourself.”

  “You are wrong- I killed a lot of slavers in Kirkwall and worked with Aveline to rid the city of them.”

  “But what about beyond Kirkwall?” He’d begun to gesticulate, hands moving in wide circles the way they always did. “What about striking at the heart of the Imperium?” One hand, balled into a fist, smacked his other hand which lay open. “If there’s one man who could bring it down, well-”

   Fenris watched Anders, at first shocked, and then outraged and angered. He felt the tips of his gauntlets scraping against the stone of the building as he tightened his grip on the edge of the roof. 

  “Anders-” he said, and his voice was enough to snap the mage out of his rant. “Be quiet.”

  “I was just saying,” Anders said and then frowned. “Fine. Anyway, what I meant to say is that I have a cause, and that gives me strength.”

  “I appreciate the thought,” Fenris said, though he didn’t, not at all. He tried to swallow, and found it impossible. “But I do not ever wish to set foot on Tevinter soil again, so long as I live.” Brief memories flickered through his mind’s eye- Of the heat, the brightly colored robes of the Magisters, blood seeping into the soil-

  There must have been something in his voice because he could feel the weight of Anders gaze on him and then, slowly, he felt the other man’s hand brush against his own.

  “That makes sense. Maker knows, without Justice by me, I’d never have gone anywhere near the Gallows. Especially with the threat of them taking me again. I don’t think I could’ve stood it, had that happened.”

  “When Danarius came for me again…” He didn’t even know why the words had come out of his mouth. He hoped for Anders to interrupt him, to continue on with his other problems, but when he just sat there, listening expectantly, Fenris knew he would have to go on. “I... Hawke was there. He tried to make a deal with Hawke. Tried to convince her to sell me back to him. To enslave me again.”

 

  He remembered the horror of that night vividly, the anger, the violence that had surged in his blood when he had watched his former Master step down the stairs. He remembered the smell of the tavern and the rotting stench of the shades that Danarius had conjured. The sticky feel of spilled ale and blood against the soles of his feet, the feel of the leather grip on his sword in his hand. 

  But what Fenris remembered most of all was Hawke’s smirk. 

  “Oh? Make it worth my while?” She had turned to look at him then, blue eyes roving over him like wandering hands, probing hands, hands that  _ hurt _ . “I suppose Fenris is very valuable to you.”

  “The power of the Imperium would be at your disposal,” Danarius had said, “And, of course, there is always gold.”

  “A lot, I imagine,” Hawke had said, eyes glinting. Those eyes, they haunted him, the way they crawled over his body. The air in the tavern had grown thin, as if someone were choking him, hands like- 

  “Still,” she had drawled, as she turned back to Danarius, “I’m sure you have something  _ much  _ better on you.” 

  The fighting had consumed him then as he desperately fought against Danarius’ lackeys and the demon he had summoned and then, finally Danarius himself. He had gone to Hawke afterwards, so grateful, and yet he had never forgotten what she had said that night.

 

  “Hawke was just joking, but I… Did not find it amusing. Not then.”

  Somewhere, in the telling, Anders’ hand had moved to cover his own and was squeezing it tightly. 

  “Hawke,” Anders said, “Was being a cunt. As she often was.”

  “Please do not speak of her that way,” Fenris said, voice strained. “She never meant any of it.”

  “You were blinded by love, and that’s not your fault, but Fenris someday… Someday you’ll realize that Hawke wasn’t everything you thought her to be.” Anders grasp on his hand was almost crushing now but Fenris didn’t flinch or ask him to move away.

  “You hate me,” Fenris said, “Why does it matter to you?”

  “Because no one deserves that? And no one deserves Danarius either, or any of the things you’ve endured.” Anders opened his mouth as if to say something else but just shut it. He didn’t need to, however, his eyes burning into Fenris with more conviction than Fenris had felt for anything.

  “You are wrong,” Fenris said, and when Anders began to pull away from him he quickly said, “I never loved Hawke. I thought- I had never known love before and I thought… I thought that that was it. What we had.” 

  “Well,” Anders said, “That… I’m glad you realized that at least.”

  There was so much that Fenris wanted to say to him in that moment and he opened his mouth to do so, moving to grasp Anders’ hand back, when suddenly he heard a voice from below them.

  “Anders? Fenris? Creators, what are you two doing up there?”

  The two men sprang apart and Fenris felt his words die in his throat. Foolish, foolish, foolish. He should have gone back inside the moment he had been certain Anders was going to stay.

  Still he watched as Merrill hopped up onto the railing and swung herself up, planting herself beside Fenris.

  “Oh, what a lovely view. You can just see the sun beginning to rise over there!” She pointed off in the distance where the deep blue of the night sky had begun to turn muddled and grey. Just behind it, Fenris knew, would come the sun and the start of a new day.

  “Maker,” he heard Anders’ amazed voice from his other side, “I really didn’t think we had been talking for that long.”

  “Neither had I,” Fenris said. It reminded far too strongly of nights back at his mansion, arguing and talking and making l- No, just having sex. That had been the basis of the relationship, after all.

  “Well, we might as well stay out here and watch the sunrise,” Merrill said. “I always promise myself I’ll get up early enough to see it, but, well, there was no good place to see in the Alienage in Kirkwall and I never thought to watch it from up here.”

  “Well, here is your chance,” Anders said only to jump as Isabela appeared from his other side.

  “Watching the sunrise without me? I’m hurt,” she said, chuckling darkly as she gracefully sat down next to Anders. 

  “Perhaps if you did not spend your nights galavanting around the city,” Fenris said, amused. 

  “Oh darling, galavanting is not the only thing I’m doing,” Isabela replied.

  “Is it murder? Ooh, or something dirty I bet,” Merrill piped up but the pirate only laughed instead of truly responding.

  The four friends fell silent then, content to watch the brilliant display unfolding before them. But Fenris did not blame himself overly much when his gaze kept sliding to the man beside him, and to all of the myriad of ways the sun reflected off of his hair as it rose higher and higher into the sky.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I cannot express how helpful the comments and kudos are and how much I appreciate them!

  “Fenris, would you mind going with me to the market?” He was in the main room, slowly working through his stances, when Merrill interrupted him. She had been watching him for a while but had obviously grown impatient.

  “Is Isabela not available?” He asked, exhaling slowly as he moved his leg up and his arms out. It took a great deal of concentration and strength but he’d been doing it for so long that many of the movements now came as naturally as breathing. It was also a good way for him to maintain his form since space to practice his swordwork was… Limited.

  “She’d planned to be gone for a little longer than just the night and, well, I could go out on my own but I just worry about, you know, getting lost. And the Antivans here are good about some things, but Creators the things they still say about elves…”

  Fenris sighed quietly and slowly moved his leg and arms back down. “Of course I will accompany you, please give me a moment.”

  He washed up quickly, just dipping a rag into a bowl of clean water and then carefully strapped on his armor before going back to Merrill who was waiting by the door. 

  “They’ll probably assume you’re Dalish,” she said, “Because of the tattoos and whatnot. I know you don’t like us, but Isabela and I thought- Maybe-” 

  “I understand,” Fenris said, “Two dalish elves will be of little note.” Far better someone thought him Dalish than realized who he truly was.

  “Thank you Fenris,” Merrill said, giving him a bright smile. “Now, let’s go!”

  Briefly Fenris looked over his shoulder at Anders, who was reading by the window. The mage looked up at him and then gave him a smug little smile when Merrill grasped his hand and began to pull him out the door.

  “Have fun,” Anders called behind them. “Try not to expose us all.”

  Fenris frowned at him and in response the mage stuck his tongue out at him. Luckily Merrill closed the door before Anders could see him grinning slightly in response.

 

  “What about this one Fenris?” Merrill held up a bright, shining bell pepper and Fenris had to resist the urge to sigh.

  “That looks perfectly acceptable,” he said, but Merrill frowned anyway as she gazed at the vegetable, eyes squinting as she looked for any flaws in the smooth, glossy skin. “Though I must reiterate that I know very little about shopping for food.”

  “Oh nonsense, you survived on your own in Kirkwall well enough.”

  “You never saw the things I ate, day to day.”

  Merrill chuckled and then put the pepper back in its place on the vendor’s cart before picking up another one. This pepper apparently passed her test as she paid for it and then plopped it into her basket.

  They moved on then, Merrill happily chatting with the merchants and Fenris standing at her back, mostly silent. It was a surprisingly pleasant way to spend the day and for a moment Fenris felt genuine regret that Anders hadn’t been able to come along. 

  The marketplace was interspersed with the occasional home and every so often Merrill would murmur in appreciation at the architecture. It was certainly beautiful, though Fenris personally did not know much about the subject. Brightly colored flowers hung from most of the windowsills and he allowed himself to smile at how they continued to bloom in the warm weather, even though it was nearing Satinalia. Nothing like the blooms had grown in Kirkwall and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed them.

  And then, suddenly, they heard a cry from up the street.

  “Let him go! Please, serah, please I swear it weren’t him-”

  Fenris and Merrill raised their heads to look ahead at the commotion and without thought began to approach. Hawke may have no longer been there to lead them but ten years of habit was difficult to break.

  “Templars-” Merrill said suddenly, drawing up short, “They-”

  Fenris took in the scene quickly. There were three templars, one of whom had grasped a small elvhen child and another who was holding back what appeared to be the boy’s mother. Their armor was lighter than their counterparts in Kirkwall but the blazing sword on the front remained the same, a beacon for some and a warning for others.

  “Don’t hurt him- Please!” The mother's voice rose into a shriek and Fenris watched as one of the Templars backhanded her. 

  “Absolutely _ not _ .” He heard Merrill growl beside him distantly, most of his attention focused on the mother and the young boy who struggled against the Templars’ grasp on his wrist.

 

  It was warm, the air so hot and sticky he could open his mouth and taste the moisture. The sun beat down mercilessly and around him he heard the sounds of wailing and crying, interspersed with the sounds of a whip being cracked.

  “Ten gold for the boy! Ten gold, anyone? Young but from good stock- Trust me, it’ll be worth yer purchase!”

  A thoughtful hum from his side as Danarius gazed upon the child (just a boy, no older than ten, perhaps) who quailed under the stares of those around him. “The boy looks worth something.”

  “Will you buy the mother as well, Magister?” Asked one of Danarius’ cronies who had come with them to the auctions.

  “No,” Danarius replied, “She looks weak and unpleasing to the eye. That scar over her face is disfiguring.”

  Fenris said nothing, thought nothing except that it was terribly warm, the soil beneath his feet so hot that it was almost burning his soles.

  Danarius raised his hand for the boy and though he was displeased to have to compete with another gentleman he eventually bought the child for fifty gold.

   Fenris watched as the boy, nervous but clearly trying to be strong, moved to the edge of the wood stage where he had been shown off. He look back over his shoulder at his mother, reaching out his hand but she did not step forward to join him, a sorrowful look crossing over her face.

  That was when the boy realized that he was being separated from his mother.

  Fenris remembered watching the struggling, crying child as he was dragged away, watching the mother bow her head. He remembered watching the way that Danarius’ lips had turned downwards in displeasure and how he wondered if that meant that he would be hurt more severely than usual that night.

  A bead of sweat dripped down his face, hanging at the point of his chin before falling to the soil below where it was hungrily soaked up by the earth. Distantly the child screamed, and screamed for his mother-

 

  “Serah!” He heard Merrill beside him and startled, realizing that they had approached the knights. “What cause do you have to treat these people this way?”

  The knight holding onto the child turned to look at Fenris and Merrill, a heavy frown on his face. “Stand aside, elf, this is no business of yours.”

  “Any mistreatment of one of the People is my concern,” Merrill replied. 

  “This is not a matter which concerns elves, this is an issue of magic usage-”

  “My son is not a mage!” The woman screamed and then twisted again in the Templar’s grasp, trying to get to her child.

  “Is that truly necessary?” Fenris bit out, unable to help himself. 

  “The child will be taken to the Circle,” the templar started, “Where he will be kept safe-”

  “Mother please- Please don’t let them take me- Please, I’m scared-”

  Fenris did not want to look at the child but he was unable to help but turn. He was young, so terribly young looking, his eyes wide and frightened, tears streaming down his blotchy face.

_ They were going to kill  _ everyone _. Not just people like me but innocent people,  _ children. 

  He remembered being shocked by the mage’s words, never having thought of the children who inevitably lived in the Circle. But then, Anders himself had been taken in at 13 and this child was even younger.

_ It was a slaughter _ . 

  According to Isabela the Circle had been destroyed- Did that include the apprentices? Children like this?

  What had Hawke  _ done _ ?

  A fourth templar that he had not seen before stepped out of the house that the boy and mother had been dragged out of. Frowning he held up an old book, shaking it.

  “I think this is what we sensed,” he grumbled, “Some Dalish nonsense- Still carries magic about it, but hasn’t been used in some time.”

  “Are you certain?” The templar holding the mother questioned, “Perhaps  _ she  _ is the mage?” The woman went very still but she did not seem afraid. She appeared, in fact, relieved.

  “No,” the third templar replied, “I tried to use smite on her earlier to quiet her just in case but it didn’t do anything.”

  “Then this was a waste,” one of the knights growled and Merrill stepped forward once more.

  “I think you had best leave these two alone then, if your business is finished.” Her hands were fisted on her hips and though she was a good head shorter than any of the knights she still made an impressive show of being intimidating.

  Frowning the first templar, the one holding the boy, looked at her. And then he cocked his head to the side, a look of confusion and then suspicion slowly dawning on his face. 

  Fenris mentally began to prepare to fight when suddenly one of the other templars stepped forward. “Come on Nunez, we’ve attracted enough attention as it is.”

  The boy and mother were unhanded and, after one of the knights threw Merrill a nasty look, the group walked away. The sound of their armor clanking faded some time after they had disappeared around a corner, long after they had disappeared from his sight.

  Fenris turned to see the mother and son holding onto each other tightly, the mother with her face pressed against the boy’s head, her ears dipping low. Finally however she raised her head to look at Fenris and Merrill, though her eyes were still watery.

  “T-Thank you,” she said, “When the templars came I- I didn’t know what I would-” She choked on a sob before shaking her head. “Raul’s father was taken to the Circle two years ago and I- I couldn’t let those bastards take him too.”

  Fenris felt his breath catch in his throat, realizing that the templars had been right. Raul  _ was  _ a mage.

  Merrill, unfazed, reached a hand forward and settled it on the woman’s shoulder. “Of course, it isn’t right, what they do. Please, if you need any help with him- Well- I can come visit you again.”

  As the two women talked Fenris found his eyes being drawn to the young boy who still clutched onto his mother’s skirts. A mageling, likely unable to produce much more than a fireball, but a mage nevertheless. In a short time he would grow, perhaps becoming a dangerous apostate like so many of the ones he had met before.

  But he found himself hesitating, unable to put forth the effort to call an alarm to the Templars or to take the boy there himself. He was a mage, but he was also a young boy, so scared to be parted from his mother that he was shaking.

 He had never turned in the mages he had known in Kirkwall like Merrill or Anders and had even come to the point of snapping at Sebastian when he had suggested he do so. He supposed it was because he had come to know them and see them not just as mages but as people too.

  Fenris had endured unspeakable horrors at the hands of mages, but it had not stopped him from befriending other ones. From loving them. 

  “Serah,” the mother had turned to him, her eyes reddened but grateful. “Thank you. It was brave of you to involve yourself.”

  He nodded, though he felt uncomfortable and was glad when he and Merrill finally walked away.

  It was some time before they spoke again, as he tried to organize his own thoughts.

  “The Dalish…” He started slowly, “How do they deal with abominations?”

  Merrill gave him an odd look, “Er, well we kill it of course. Can't have an abomination running through ones camp. It’d ruin the aravels, turn the halla’s milk sour. Truth be told though we rarely have to deal with one.”

  “Even with your mages uncontrolled?”

  Her eyes narrowed but finally Merrill said, “I’ve trained to be a Keeper my whole life. Hours of rigorous practice, reading, perfecting my control over my magic and learning the People’s history.”

  Fenris frowned, preparing to needle her about her weakness towards blood magic when suddenly he asked, “Your whole life?”

  “Well, once my magic was discovered that is.”

  It was far more than he had anticipated. “That length of training… It sounds similar to how Anders described learning in the Circle.”

  “And yet I was free to live with my clan, my family.”

  Fenris frowned and then hummed thoughtfully. “And yet.” 

  Merrill’s use of blood magic was not something he could condone but he suddenly had a great deal to think on about the Circle.

 

  He brought up the subject a few nights later as he sat next to Anders on the rooftop. It was strangely nostalgic, these conversations that lasted into the early hours of the morning, but they still threw the occasional barb at each other.

  Fenris supposed that he had been more quiet than usual because suddenly Anders turned to him and asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Besides everything?” Fenris could not help but ask.

  Anders frowned, now wearing a pinched look on his face. “Right, sorry, just wanted to check that you were still an asshole.”

  “The mage jests,” Fenris deadpanned, “And yet no one laughs.”

  Anders grumbled something and then turned away. “Fine, I’ll leave you be. Likely to get a better conversation out of the wall at this point.”

  Fenris felt regret fill his chest and, immediately, he said, “I- Saw something in the market the other day.”

  Anders paused from where he had been about to jump back down to the stairs and instead settled in his seat once more.

  “Yes?” He asked, prompting Fenris when the man did not seem inclined to continue. 

  “I saw… I saw the Templars try to take a boy.”

  Anders sighed and looked away. “Yes, Merrill told me about that.” He shot a sideways glance at Fenris and continued, “She said that the boy was truly a mage. But that you made the Templars leave anyway.”

  “He was just a boy,” Fenris said quietly. “Likely no danger to anyone at this point.” 

  He had questioned his decision often in the last few days and even now wondered about it. 

  “Tell me, Fenris, why did you never turn Merrill or I in? You could have. Would have been a good reward too, I'm sure.” He said this and then snorted in derision.

  “You were my friends. And Hawke… Seemed to need you.”

  “Ah yes, anything for Hawke.” But Anders’ voice was gentle, almost sad. 

  Fenris resisted the urge to squirm when silence fell again, tried to control the words, the questions that he so desperately wanted to ask. After a moment's struggle he gave up, however.

  “What was it like, when you were taken to the Circle?”

  He’d expected Anders to flinch but he didn't so much as move, just continued to stare out into the city.

  “It was a long time ago. A long time ago.”

  “But you still remember?”

  “Yes I… Do.” He shifted where he sat, and then said softly, “I barely remember my mother’s face anymore. But I'll never forget the face of the Templar who… He was so angry. I was scared and confused- I thought maybe if I was good I might get to go home but- 

  “At the time I thought I deserved it. I had burned down our barn. My father wouldn't speak to my mother until she agreed to send for the Templars. I was scared but… Those days after the fire were nothing compared to the journey to Kinloch Hold. Nor all the years after. And despite what they told me, every day, it didn't make sense to me that I deserved to be locked up and punished so long for that fire.”

  “It was not the fire.”

  “Oh I am aware. It was being a  _ mage _ . A dirty, filthy thing.” Anders sighed and quieted again. “No matter. You decided not to turn the boy over, I suppose I have to thank you for that.”

  Now it was Fenris’ turn to shift uncomfortably. 

  “It was… I do not believe Merrill would have allowed me to act otherwise.”

  “Am I to believe you've started letting Merrill push you around?”

  “No but-” he grumbled, “The reason matters little. I can only hope we do not live to regret such a thing.”

  “Agreed.” Anders was quiet then, idly kicking his legs against the walls of the building. When he spoke again his tone was cautious, “You said you did not give up Merrill or I because we were friends?”

  “Comrades would be the better term,” Fenris replied. “Other followers of Hawke, maybe.”

  “I see,” Anders replied and although Fenris could not see his face with it turned away he could tell that the mage was disappointed. Which was laughable- They’d never truly been friends, even when they shared a bed. No, Fenris told himself, there had been nothing beyond the physical there.

  And yet he itched to grasp Anders hand, to tell him that he was lying, that Anders was one of the few people in his life that he could rightfully call a friend.

  A friend that was at turns maddening, argumentative, and downright dangerous. 

  Beside him Anders sighed softly and then said, his voice quiet, “I'll be off to bed then. Got a big day of nothing ahead of me.” The chuckle that followed was weak, humorless, and it made Fenris’ gut churn.

  “Sleep well, Anders,” he said. The mage turned to look at him then, his eyes shining. They seemed to search for something but Fenris did not know how to give it to him, did not know that Anders even truly wished for it.

  There was so much between them, so much Fenris wished to say. And yet he found himself mute now, just as he had all of those other times before.

  “I will be inside shortly,” was all that Fenris managed to say. “Please do not wait on me.”

  Something indecipherable flitted over Anders’ face and then he nodded, “Right, of course, wouldn’t have- Wouldn’t have anyway.” 

  And then he had hopped back down to the staircase and moved inside the apartment, leaving Fenris alone with his unspoken thoughts and his regret.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize its been taking more longer to get chapters out, the one after this is written and just needs to be edited so I hope to publish that sooner rather than later.
> 
> I realized that I hadn't written from Anders' perspective for a while and although this was *intended* to be a fluffy little bit it didn't end up that way. The next chapter will be happy... For a little while anyway.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy kind of this small snippet before the plot picks up again! Kudos and comments are, once again, always appreciated.

   Anders was sitting at the window which overlooked the city, as he had taken to doing, when the book was dropped in his lap. The mage startled, wrenching his head around to look up at the dark figure standing above him, an entirely neutral expression on his face. He seemed to be waiting for Anders to respond but all the man did was blink.

  To say that he did not know what to make of this… Relationship with Fenris was an understatement. They ate together, played cards and read across from each other. Though they did not share a bed he was rarely farther away than arms reach. And the late night conversations on the rooftop- Those especially confounded him.

  It seemed very possible that they still hated each other. His grief, his anger, was something that Anders had always been very good at sustaining. And Fenris was no worse at digging his clawed hands into his grudges and holding on as if it were the only things giving him purpose.

  And yet. 

  His hand still strayed to touch Fenris’ far too often, a specter of the intimacy they had once, long ago, shared. The elf never moved away, sometimes going so far as to return his grasp.

  They never spoke of it, their conversations sleekly avoiding such topics with all the grace of an alley cat winding its way through back alleys and top of fences. Both, Anders thought bitterly, were so damned alike. Passionate and angry and wanting and never quite able to swallow their pride long enough to ask for what they wanted. 

   And then Fenris had marched up to him and dropped a book in his lap.

  Slowly Anders turned his expression downwards and picked it up, eyes moving quickly over the gilt letters of the title.

  “This,” he paused, eyebrows furrowing, “Is a book of… Ferelden children’s stories?” He quickly looked back up at the elf who remained staring impassively, arms folded over his chest. “Are you trying to say something about my intelligence? Because I’ll have you know…”

  “No.” Fenris replied, though he did not explain further.

  “I could probably recite most of these by heart, you know,” Anders said with an irritated huff of breath. “ _ I  _ could have probably written this. My mother certainly told me enough-”

  He paused and then looked back down at the book. Voice suddenly weary he asked, “Fenris, why did you give this to me?”

  “You said you could not remember much of your mother, or your childhood.” He shrugged, as if this were all very casual. As if Anders’ heart were not threatening to burst from his chest. 

  “I… A little. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember that there was a life before the Circle.” Anders faced darkened, briefly thinking on the childhood that had been taken from him. However he quickly looked back up, pinning Fenris with a gaze that was at turns grateful and curious. “Thank you Fenris. This is… A very thoughtful gift.”

   Fenris shrugged again and replied, “I saw it when I stopped by one of the book merchants. It was inexpensive.” 

  “Even so,” Anders said. Silence fell between them then before finally Fenris nodded his head and then walked away. The mage watched him disappear into the hallway leading to the bedroom before slowly looking back down at the book that he held.

  It was dusty and old, the spine cracked and the letters there worn from the gentle touch of many hands. Slowly Anders lifted it to his face, smelling the unique odor of old, well-loved books. He closed his eyes, feeling himself drawn back to a rustic farmstead, his head resting on the thigh of a woman with long blond hair and a low, soothing voice.

  He remembered often falling asleep there, lulled by the rhythm of the voice and the sound of the pages slowly turning. A warm hand on his back, wide and heavily calloused, being picked up and carried to bed. The sounds of his parents soft murmuring mingling together, the feel of his own bed beneath him.

  Sighing he opened his eyes again and looked back down at the book. He was alone now in the main room, the sunlight from the window he had been sitting in still streaming throughout the room. The faint noises of the street he had been watching below drifted in through the window, replacing his fuzzy memories.

  The bedroom was silent, though Anders still strained for any noise of the elf that was now in it. Briefly he thought of getting up from his seat, of going to the other man.

  What would he say? What would he do? 

  Slowly he set the book down and unfolded himself from his seated position. His heart beat overly loud in his chest but he did not stop, each step taking him down the narrow hallway, closer and closer to the bedroom door. It was shut and, briefly, Anders leaned his forehead against it.

  He knew that Fenris sat on the other side of it. Was he waiting for Anders? Anticipating him?

  His emotions simmered within him, a pot that was threatening to boil over but that had not quite yet decided to do so.

  Slowly Anders moved his hand to the doorknob, felt the cool metal of the brass between his fingers, so much like the steel of Fenris’ gauntlets. He needed only to turn it, to enter the room. 

  There was silence within, though Fenris had to have heard him by now, plodding around. Did he wait, just on the other side of the door? His palm pressed against the wood, so close to stroking Anders’ cheek as he had once done?

  A pit of such deep, anguished longing opened within him and Anders had to hold back a sob. He wanted, so badly, to open that door. To forgive and to mend and to press his lips against Fenris’. There would never be forgetting but perhaps there could be healing. Maybe they were not doomed to live in this strange state of half-hating and half-loving each other.

   But Anders did not open the door. He knew, ultimately, that his thoughts were fantasy.

  He would never undo what he had done, even if given the chance. And he could never save Fenris from all of the horrors that magic had borne on him.

  The past was the past and Anders would do well not to forget that. 

  The book of Ferelden children's stories remained by the window, and though he spared it another glance he did not open it.

  More and more frequently Merrill asked Fenris to accompany her to trips to the market or around town. They were not friends, Fenris doubted they would ever be, but Merrill didn't seemed to mind his lack of conversation and he was generally able to tune out the idle chatter she seemed to direct mostly at herself. Once he guessed the shapes of the clouds above them, indulging in the silly game with her, but he promised himself he would do no more than that with her. 

  That afternoon they ambled along, Merrill on the hunt for dinner that night and Fenris eager to see what the book merchant might have gotten in since his last shipment. Anders hadn't seemed to particularly care for the previous book that he had gotten him and though Fenris tried to pretend otherwise he was stung. But, though he could, or would not explain to himself why he felt it important to try again.

  They passed by a few workers beginning to set up decorations and idly Fenris said, “I wonder what all of that is for.”

  “Why, for Satinalia of course. The  _ piazza  _ is the main site of the celebration, although Isabela told me that most of the city will be drinking itself silly. Oh, and masks! She said that everyone wears the most beautiful masks and dresses up very nicely. And, supposedly, they name the town fool as ruler for the day. It all sounds terribly exciting.”

  “Of course,” Fenris said, stunned to realize how much time had passed since they had left Kirkwall. “I suppose you and Isabela will have fun during it.”

  “Of course. Oh, but, well, we were thinking…” She bit her bottom lip, humming for a moment. “Well,  _ everyone  _ will be wearing a mask and so…”

  Fenris raised an eyebrow in response, though he already knew where she was going.

  “Merrill,” he said, voice brooking no argument, “We cannot run that risk.”

  “But, An-”

  “ _ Merrill _ ,” Fenris quickly looked around but it was obvious that no one was listening to them. “No.”

  Merrill frowned and then crossed her arms in front of her chest, glaring at him. “I know that you don’t agree with what  _ he  _ did and that you want to punish  _ him  _ even though he probably saved a lot of lives but I, for one, do not agree. And I won’t make him stay inside on Satinalia, of all days.”

  Fenris just stared at her, stunned. He had never known Merrill to be so unyielding. 

  “Now,” she said, “You are going to help me pick out a mask for him and a mask for you. No arguments.” She turned around then, and Fenris was helpless to do anything but follow her.

  “No,” Fenris heard Merrill muttering from the next stall over. “No, that won’t do. Ugh, I know the perfect ones are here I just…” She moved again, further away from him, and this time Fenris didn’t bother trying to hide his sigh of annoyance.

  They had finished shopping for food some time ago and should have been back on their way to the apartment. They would have been, too, had Merrill not insisted they stop. The worst of it was that she and Isabela apparently already had their masks and now she was looking for ones for him and Anders. Fenris hadn’t even said that he wanted to go but that, apparently, was not up for discussion either.

  He walked from vendor to vendor, back hunched and head low. Most of them watched him suspiciously though as an elf he was used to such treatment. The thought that he would want to steal any of the masks was laughable, however. What use did he have for such a silly, frivolous object?

  Still, he couldn’t disappoint Merrill or risk Isabela’s ire, and so he continued his hunt.

  And then he saw it, buried behind several other masks. It was a shining, golden color, drawing Fenris towards it like a moth to the flame. 

  The merchant looked upon Fenris with disapproving eyes but he ignored her, picking up the mask and holding it aloft before him.

  It was actually a half mask, designed to cover the upper portion of the face and stop just above the lips. The eye holes were curved gracefully and extending from the crown of the piece were several bright, golden rays of what was supposed to be sunlight. It felt light in his hands, almost ethereal, and for a moment he had a vivid image of himself placing the sun mask over Anders’ face. The mage would turn then, allowing Fenris to tie the mask on with the two smooth, satin ribbons attached to the side. And then he would move to face Fenris again and he would smile, a golden sun, his hair left down and wild like-

  “Oh, that’s a lovely one!” Merrill plucked the mask out of his hands to examine it and Fenris had to resist the urge to snatch it back like a child with a toy. 

  “I thought… For Anders…”

  “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind,” Merrill said. “And just look at the mask I picked up for you!”

  Fenris took the mask, finger running over the smooth material, along the crescent shape which curled ever so delicately.

  It was a moon.

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super eager to publish this chapter and I hope you all enjoy it. Real life has been making me want to not write but I was pretty happy about how this came out.
> 
> Once again, I appreciate everyone's comments so much, even if I don't reply to them in a timely manner.

  “People usually travel into town to join in the partying,” Isabela said as the four of them gazed out the windows of their little apartment and onto the scene before them. “But this is…”

  “Beautiful,” Merrill sighed dreamily,

  “Foolish,” Fenris said,

  “Incredible,” Anders breathed. “Maker, even in Kirkwall I’d never seen so many people.”

  Below them ran a veritable river of people, all dressed in brilliant colors and wearing masks. Music seemed to pour from every part of the city, rich and poor, flowing as easily as the wine and the ale. There was dancing and twirling in the streets, people stepping and prancing to the beat of the drums which seemed to underlay much of the action below. The sun shone down, strong and bright for this was Antiva, upon a thousand gleaming masks of every possible shape and color. 

  “Well,” Isabela said, quickly tying on her mask, “Let’s not wait!” 

  Anders laughed, a bright happy sound, and picked his mask from up off the table. “I am in complete agreement.” 

  He placed it against his face, and moved his hands, only to be stopped when Fenris muttered next to him, “Allow me.”

  Anders stopped, waiting in tense anticipation as Fenris moved behind him, swiftly tying the mask to his head with skilled fingers. For just a moment Anders thought he felt Fenris’ knuckles brush against the back of his neck but then he was gone, having stepped back beside Isabela.

  “Oh, I knew it would look wonderful on you Anders,” Merrill, who was wearing a half-mask like him, said. Hers was green and appeared to be made out of several leaves, the carving intricately beautiful. 

  “Yours is lovely too,” Anders said, “And of course, Isabela and Fenris’ as well.” Isabela’s mask was also half-length, a rich, blue color that was offset by swirls of gold paint and black feathers.

  “Now,” Merrill said, grasping his hand and opening the door, “Come on!” The group made their way down the rickety set of stairs, laughing as the wood creaked and protested beneath all of their combined weights. 

  They entered the crowd of revelers immediately, the crush of people crashing over them like a wave. It was chaotic, people yelling and singing and already mostly drunk, but Anders had a hard time remembering the last time he had felt so light and jovial. 

   “We need to get to the piazza!” Merrill shouted to them and Anders nodded, grasping her hand so as not to lose her and then, without thinking, taking Fenris’ with his other hand. “That’s where the best part is,” she said, laughing as a couple danced past her and then disappeared back into the crowd.

  “You’re our navigator,” Anders joked to Isabela, “Can you get us to the piazza?”

  “Anders, I can steer a ship through a monsoon. Can I get us to the piazza?” She laughed as she repeated his question back to him. “Come on sweet things, it’ll be right this way.”

  She took the lead easily, navigating skillfully between the people while Merrill, Anders and Fenris followed her obediently, rather like ducklings behind their mother. Anders looked behind him, unable to help his mood, and grinned at Fenris. 

  He watched as the elf’s eyes widened behind his mask but whatever his expression might have been was lost since it covered all of his face. Still it was enough, and Anders suddenly found himself short of breath.

  Around them the music pounded, a fast, upbeat rhythm that brought Anders back to younger, freer days. Had Merrill not pulled him along it was very possibly he would have stopped to enjoy the music with the man trailing behind him.

  “Almost there!” He heard Isabela yell and though he turned back to look forward again he didn’t miss the way that Fenris’ grip on him tightened. 

  The piazza was a wide plaza used to host musicians, merchants, and other interesting things of note that passed through the city of Rialto. During the festival days of Satinalia it was packed with people and Anders, though he had trouble believing his eyes, thought he might have passed by a  _ literal  _ fountain of wine.

  “Now,” Isabela said when they’d made it to the center of the square, “It’s time to drink up!” Anders found a pewter mug being shoved into his hand and before he could even question what was inside it his friends around him began to drink.

  He thought back to Justice, briefly, and then quickly raised the cup to his mouth and swallowed every drop of the drink inside it.

  “Maker,” he said, “That is…”

  “That’s Antivan wine!  _ Real  _ Antivan wine, not that fake stuff that Corff would try to sell to us every once in a while,” Isabela exclaimed.

  “It’s delicious,” Merrill said, laughing brightly and even though there was nothing particularly funny about the situation Anders found himself joining her. It felt incredible, to drink wine beneath the open sun, his friends at his back. 

  His mug, as if by magic, though more likely by Isabela’s deft hand, filled itself again and he drunk it eagerly. He felt giddy and bright and when someone tapped on his shoulder, looking for a dance, he sent his friends a mischievous look. 

  “I’ll find you again,” he said, and then let the stranger take his hand and pull him further into the jostling, vibrating heart of the crowd before any of them could stop him.

  He lost his cup but the stranger was quick to take his hands, spinning him around in a tight circle. 

  “ _ Hola _ ,” The stranger said, a crooked grin on his face, “ _ De donde eres? _ ”

  “Oh,” Anders said, laughing as he moved to keep up with his partner, “ _ No hablo-  _ Ah-  _ Antivan _ ?” Isabela had taught him a few phrases and he had tried to teach himself but with no one to truly practice on he was terrible. “Common?”

  “Mm, my Common is not so good but for you, my pretty friend, I shall try.” The man’s eyes glinted and Anders found himself actually blushing as he returned the grin. 

  “I have been looking for a partner to practice my…  _ Antivan  _ on,” he replied, fluttering his eyelashes. He had absolutely no intention of doing anything with the man beyond flirting but it had been so long since he had done even that. “Perhaps you know of someone?”

  “There is no need to look any further,” the man responded and then spun Anders in a graceful twirl before catching him. “I believe you will find that my skills go beyond dancing.”

  “Your dancing is quite impressive,” Anders said, laughing and breathing heavily. He moved up again, taking his partner’s arms once more. “I do, however, have this one move called…”

  By the time that Anders stumbled back to Fenris, somehow managing to find him in the crush of people, he was much drunker. He was laughing freely now and when he saw the moon mask in the crowd he grasped onto the elf tightly.

  “Fenris,” he said, “Dance with me.”

  Green eyes widened in surprise behind the slits in the mask but when Anders pulled on him he did not resist. They spun in tight circles, there were too many people to afford much room for them, and yet Anders felt Fenris pulling him in tighter.

  “This music,” Anders said, “I’ve never heard anything like this. And this wine…”

  His eyes crinkled slightly and although Anders couldn’t see his mouth he thought it very possible that he was smiling behind the mask. 

  “It is very good,” Fenris said, his tone careful, “You are… Enjoying yourself.”

  “Yes, Maker yes. The first time out of that stupid apartment in, what, months? And this…” He shook his head, basking in the sun and the music and the press of other people. “It’s wonderful.” He looked back down at Fenris, mouth curled up into a smirk and asked, “You don’t seem the festival type but-”

  “I enjoy this well enough,” he replied, “It is all very exciting. And there are many beautiful things here.” He looked at Anders then and the mage felt his heart stop. Fenris’ hands were grasped tightly around his and Anders realized that he’d begun to lead in their dance. 

  “Fenris,” he said, feeling suddenly far too brave, “Buy a poor mage a drink?” He felt his heart stop, his fingers tense as he waited for the answer.

  “Only if the poor mage will share,” Fenris said and Anders chuckled breathlessly.

  “I believe the poor mage can be generous.”

 

  He felt Fenris pull him into an alley, affording them some privacy and space from all of the other people. He gasped as he felt his back hit the wall of one of the buildings, the stucco snagging against his shirt.

  “Fenris,” He said, hands moving towards the mask, “Please-” 

  The elf fumbled with the tie at the back of his head, tugging on it sharply. When it wouldn't move he grunted in frustration and shoved it up and off of his head before letting it fall onto the cobblestone at their feet.

  “Careful,” Anders said, “Never know when you might-”

  He was cut off as Fenris pressed against him, kissing him deeply. One hand wrapped itself around the nape of his neck while the other moved under his shirt seeking naked skin. 

  “So warm,” he heard Fenris murmur as he began to mouth at the skin of his neck. “So…”

  “The apartment,” Anders said, even as he wrapped one of his legs around Fenris’, entwining them. “We should get back to…”

  “The others?” Fenris asked as he moved the hand on Anders’ neck up to his hair, pulling on it gently.

  “They'll be gone for a while, I'm sure. Just…” Anders groaned as Fenris ground against him and he was momentarily distracted. “I need this… You.”

  He felt Fenris begin to draw back and he grasped onto him tightly in response. He couldn't leave him, not-

  “We cannot get to the apartment as we are now,” Fenris said, amusement obvious. “And I can only do the things I want to do to you in the apartment. Or, at least, someplace not an alley.”

  For one wild moment Anders thought of just dropping to his knees before Fenris. He doubted the elf would be complaining about being out in public then.

  “Fine,” he replied, “You always did have high standards.” He meant it as a joke and Fenris smiled at it but it made him think far too much of other times, other moments between them. Of what had once been so easy between them.

  He moved forward and kissed Fenris hard, trying to obliterate all thought from his mind. Thinking, here, was dangerous and if he kept doing it he might ruin it all.

  Anders pulled away, finally, marveling at the blush on Fenris’ face. It wasn't as obvious as it would have been on him but it was satisfying all the same.

  “Well, come on then,” he said, grasping Fenris’ hand and pulling him back into the sea of people once more.

 

  He bumped against Anders’ back as they hurried up the stairs to the little apartment that had begun to feel strangely like home. When he opened the door and they stepped inside Fenris was relieved to see that there was no sign of Isabela or Merrill. He would not have relished explaining the way he grasped onto the mage’s hand or how he pressed against him.

  Anders turned and, without letting go of him shut the door and locked it.

  “If they do come back early at least we’ll have warning,” he muttered.

  Fenris had not been thinking that far ahead but was glad Anders had been. He did not want them to be interrupted and he realized suddenly that the feeling had little to do with not being caught.

  He stepped forward and cupped the side of Anders’ face, hand half on skin and half on smooth porcelain.

  “Your mask,” he said, “Take it off.” He was beautiful in it but he wanted to see all of Anders, to watch him.

  “Don't you think it’d add to it?” Anders asked, his smile roguish. But his eyes were…

  “No,” Fenris said. “No masks.”

  Anders swallowed heavily and then slowly, slowly, raised his hands behind his head and untied the mask. He removed it and set it down gently before he turned to look back at Fenris, expression strangely naked.

  “Alright,” he said, “No masks.”

  They moved together then and something changed between them. It felt rawer, deeper as Fenris kissed him and then grasped his shirt, tugging it off in short, jerky movements. He could taste Anders’ tongue in his mouth, entwined their legs together, moved against him. The grinding pressure felt good but it wasn't enough, not for him.

  He felt the mage’s hand move underneath the waistband of his pants and choked when his long, clever fingers wrapped around his cock, smearing the precome already forming.

  Fenris thrust into his hand and when Anders’ grip turned a little too tight he moved his mouth to his shoulder and bit down on the pale, freckled skin there.

  Anders grip loosened just enough. Fenris grasped his hand, pulling it up and then pinning it above him, against the wall. 

  He remembered so much about the man before him, the ways he liked to be touched ( _ sometimes rough, sometimes not _ ) the way he liked to be kissed, to be fucked.

  And yet there was so much he didn't. He wanted to know everything about the man he was now pressed against, wanted to understand him.

  He convinced himself to stop touching Anders but only as long as it took him to hastily remove his shirt and strip off his leggings. Thank the Maker he hadn't worn armor, because as soon as he was naked he was moving against Anders again.

  His hands roamed, greedy for whatever they would be allowed. He felt like he was starving and Anders was a banquet he’d finally been allowed to sit at after so long.

  Fenris kissed the corner of his mouth, trailing his lips down his neck to where he had bitten him earlier. The area was a little red looking and Fenris kissed it gently, as if in apology. He heard Anders inhale noisily and then the man was shoving back against him.

  “There is at least one bed in this apartment,” he said, going for a humorous tone, “I suggest that we use it.”

  “As you wish, though I would gladly take you against the wall,” he looked up into Anders’ eyes as he spoke, and was rewarded when Anders swallowed heavily.

  He looked at though he might say something and Fenris felt himself waiting, eager for it, but instead the mage grasped the side of his face and kissed him desperately. 

  “Bed,” he finally managed to say, and then began to push Fenris back in between kissing him. 

  Fenris’ back hit the door to the single room and he fumbled desperately for the handle, almost falling back into the room when he managed to open it. The back of his legs hit one of the bed and he went down, dragging Anders with him.

  Anders situated himself above him and with a grunt managed to shuck off his pants, and finally, finally they were both skin to skin, nothing between them.

  Fenris had rarely tolerated the touch of other people but this was a part of sex that he craved, desperately. The connection between him and another person, the feel of touch soothed something in him that he had rarely consciously thought about, let alone voiced.

  He had learned to be alone, in the years since his escape from Danarius. But the few times he had allowed someone to touch him like this he was reminded of how much he missed simply being with another person.

  “Please,” He murmured, wrapping his arms around Anders and tangling their legs together. “Let me…” His cock stood hard and insistent against Anders’ thighs but it wasn’t his most pressing want. “I want to-”

  It wasn’t the first time he had asked Anders to simply let him hold him. Nor the first time that he had asked Anders to do the same to him. But just like before Anders resisted and wiggled, all too similar to the cats he so loved so much.

  “Need you,” he heard the mage grunt against his ear, “Let me up-”

  Fenris did as he asked, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, his arms falling to his sides as Anders rose up over him. In the bright light of the Antivan sun spilling through the window Anders’ body seemed to turn golden, like his hair, like the mask he had worn. 

  His eyes were half-lidded but they did not break away from Fenris’ gaze as he whispered, “Watch me.”

  Fenris was helpless to do otherwise as Anders conjured grease onto his palm and slowly moved it behind him. He watched, rapt, as the expression on Anders’ face changed from one of intense concentration to one of pleasure.

  His mouth parted and Fenris almost groaned when he bit down on his bottom lip, worrying it as his hand began to move slightly faster.

  Fenris’ cock twitched at the sight alone and he could not help but move one of his hands up to clutch the side of Anders’ hip, digging his fingers in slightly.

  “Okay, okay,” Anders said on a groan, “Just let me…” He moved the hand he had been preparing himself with, still slick with grease, and grasped Fenris’ cock.

  Fenris bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning loudly as Anders continued to stroke him. He wasn't able to stop himself however when Anders moved forward slightly and then sank down onto him in one graceful movement.

  “Anders,” he said, trying not to close his eyes or look away as the other man rose up slightly and then down again. He wanted to watch him, to take in everything that he was doing, the way he looked. He’d never taken the opportunity, when they had been lovers before, but he hadn't known then what he knew now.

  He loved him.

  Whatever he’d done, whatever he had yet to do, Fenris loved him and he would follow him wherever it took them.

  It didn't take long for Anders to begin moving quickly. His hand moved to his own cock and Fenris watched as he stroked himself, his movements becoming desperate.

  Fenris wanted to draw it out as long as possible but he found his other hand moving up to grasp Anders’ hip as he began to thrust up into him.

  “Fuck,” Anders gasped, moving back down against him, shuddering at the sound of skin smacking against skin. “That’s- Yes-”

  He hissed as Fenris picked up speed, letting out a desperate moan that the elf echoed. It all felt so good, to finally be with him again, to be inside him, to have Anders sweating over him.

  “Yes, yes,  _ yes _ -” The mage chanted, almost as if caught in the throes of religious fervor. He was beautiful, Fenris thought, the way his mouth formed the words, the way his body rocked over him.

  Anders opened his eyes suddenly, locking them with Fenris’ and then groaned lowly.

  Fenris felt the come hit him, hot and sticky, watched as Anders’ closed his eyes, mouthing something the elf couldn't hear.

  He came with Anders still moving over him, finally closing his eyes and crying out.

  In the moment immediately after he felt incredibly clear-headed. It had probably been foolish what they had just done, fueled by alcohol and the festivities still going on outside, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He was with Anders again now and that was what was important.

  He opened his eyes, giving the mage a small smile and raised one of his hands just to touch him only for Anders to begin moving away.

  “Ought to get clean,” he murmured not looking back at him. “I-” He moved up and off of Fenris and made a small noise. “Will be right back.”

  Fenris watched him go, wishing he hadn't but trusting that he would come back. Sighing quietly he lay back on the pillows, listening idly to the music and cheering from outside. Despite the noise the wine he had consumed earlier and sex were doing their best to drag him down into sleep. He didn't want to, not until Anders came back but it was so difficult to fight it when he felt so relaxed.

  Perhaps he would just close his eyes for a moment. Just a single moment.

 

  Anders stood at the door to the bedroom, watching as Fenris exhaled and then rolled over onto his side, eyes fluttering closed. His eyes roved over his body, observing the way his limbs relaxed and became heavy, the way he curled one of his arms up to his chest.

  He sighed quietly and closed his eyes, trying to fight the tears that burned behind them.

  It had been a mistake, what they had done. Anders had been feeling far too good, had been missing the touch of another person. He knew now that he should have taken up the Antivan strangers offer to sleep with him but for some foolish reason he had turned him down and then gone back, seeking his friends.

  He had found Fenris, alone, and had remembered what they had before. 

  He had seen the look in the elf’s eyes as he had fucked him and while he should have stopped, then, like some masochist he had seen it to the end.

  Or a sadist. He knew that what he had done and what he was about to do was going to hurt Fenris, as well as Isabela and Merrill, badly.

  But he had always been selfish and undeserving of the love of the people around him. Justice had made him a better man but he was gone now, unable to stop Anders.

  A tear slipped down his cheek as he thought of what his friend might had said or felt. It didn't matter though, he would never do so again.

  He moved to the little washroom and quickly wiped all traces of Fenris from his body before hastily dressing and packing a small bag. Anders had few possessions anyway and he found himself only filling the pack about halfway up.

  And then he saw, sitting by the door, the moon mask that Fenris had been wearing earlier.

  “No,” he told himself even as he reached for it and picked it up, feeling the smooth porcelain with his hand. There was no reason to take it with him. He didn't love Fenris anymore, not after everything he had done to him and he didn't want any reminders of the elf.

  And yet his hand placed it in his pack, careful to move one of his shirts around it to keep it from breaking. He filled it the rest of the way with food from the kitchen, trying to ignore its presence there.

  When he was ready he moved to the front door and stopped for a second, taking a brief, fortifying breath.

  This was what he had been planning to do, ever since he had woken up on that boat. He had been hesitating for far too long and he knew that he needed to go,  _ now _ .

  He pulled the handle down and opened the door, stepping out onto the stairs and feeling them creak beneath him. The sun had begun to dip lower and lower in the sky and soon it would be night. Along with the crowds he would have good cover to get out of the city.

  And then to the other Circles, to finish what he had started.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS FIC ART NOW!  
> http://misterwiggums.tumblr.com/post/159731818135/anyway-lorpus-destroyed-me-emotionally-with  
> It's by misterwiggums and i'm still a little screechy over it.
> 
> anyway. this is sort of the end of what i consider "act two" of this story, and the next chapter will start "act three," so to speak. i intend for that to be the end, but there will be a lot of stuff packed into it and, just like before, the tone will be a lot different.
> 
> this chapter is also super long, for which i apologize. i just couldnt find anywhere to break it up that made sense :[

  It was in the early hours of the morning when Merrill and Isabela finally returned, arms slung around each other, laughing and teasing each other. The apartment was dark and when Merrill ignited several of the candles inside she almost yelped when she saw Fenris sitting on the floor, head in his hands and curled up slightly.

  “Fenris- You, uh, you scared me,” she said, swallowing heavily. “Are you alright?”

  She took a step forward but stopped when Fenris raised his head up to look at her with bloodshot eyes.

  “He's not with you,” he said, voice dull, “I thought, maybe…”

  “Who's not?” Merrill asked, her voice gentle.

  His throat worked as he struggled to say the word. “Anders.”

  Isabela inhaled suddenly, just as Merrill realized the implications of his words.

  “Anders is not… Here?”

  “We came back,” Fenris said, “I fell asleep and when I awoke…”

  It had been dark and he had come to consciousness disoriented. His first thought had been to reach for Anders, assuming he had come back to sleep beside him, but his hands had only grasped air.

  That was when the true nightmare had begun.

  “I searched the apartment, the roof, some of the surrounding area although with the crowds it was… Difficult. I thought, perhaps, he had gone to find you two again but…”

  “Well,” Merrill said, “Maybe… Maybe he did go to look for us or- Maybe he went with that one gentleman he was with earlier-”

  Something must have flashed in Fenris’ eyes because the words died on Merrill’s lips before she could finish them.

  He looked away finally and said, “His clothing is gone as well as one of the packs and some food.  _ He  _ is gone.”

  “Shit,” he heard Isabela mutter.

  Fenris looked back at them then, eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I am going after him. He can run the length of Thedas but I will find him, eventually.”

  He rose, though every instinct in his body wished to remain curled on the floor. He chided himself for not leaving sooner, however, for holding out the foolish hope that he might not have run away. He had wasted so much time and Anders was now that much further away from him.

  “Wait, Fenris-” Merrill stepped in front of him, hands splayed out slightly. “Please, you can't leave tonight and-”

  “I have dallied long enough,” he said, “Now step  _ aside _ -”

  “No,” she said and Fenris blinked when she put her hands on her hips, staring him down. “I'll not stand by and watch you go after him with the intent to hurt him. Now, I know you didn't agree with what he did but Anders is still my friend and I protect my friends.”

  “Merrill,” he said, feeling suddenly very tired, “I am not going after him in order to hurt him. I merely…”

  “We're going with you in any case,” Isabela said when he didn't continue. “You can't deny that you'll need our help.”

  He frowned and replied, “This will not be the first time I have travelled on my own. And besides, I cannot ask that of you two.”

  “Anders is our friend too,” she said, “And besides I-”

  She hesitated as Fenris and Merrill looked to her. “I got a letter from Varric,” she said, voice uneasy. “Hawke was very… Curious about the three of us disappearing. And with Anders’ body.”

  Fenris remembered that day vividly, though he frequently tried not to. He remembered the argument he had used to stay beside Anders, about needing a body to prove to the Chantry that the apostate had been killed. 

  “What, exactly, does Hawke think?” Fenris asked, suddenly on edge.

  “I don’t think even Varric knows that. But she’s managed to become Viscount of Kirkwall and has apparently sent out runners to try and track us down.”

  Fenris felt the air rush out of him and it was obvious that Merrill felt much the same way.

  “Why did you not tell any of us this sooner? Anders has no idea and now he is out there-”

  “I only got the letter yesterday,” Isabela said defensively as Fenris' voice rose, “And I wanted to check with my own contacts about how true it might be-”

  “Fasta vas,” Fenris cursed, turning around and striding to the window, trying to think. “This is… Bad.”

  “He can’t have gotten that far,” Isabela said, “We’ll find him and make sure that Hawke doesn’t find out about him- Or catch him.”

  “She’d kill him,” he heard Merrill whisper, “Or worse.”

  After a moment of thought Fenris said, “He had contacts in the Circle in Kirkwall and in other places in the Free Marches. I cannot imagine he would return to Kirkwall but perhaps to one of the other cities where the towers have tried to rebel.”

  “Or,” Isabela said, “That’s exactly what he would do.”

  “The Circle was decimated- I doubt few, if any, of his contacts there are still alive.” Personally Fenris was also certain that Hawke would have destroyed his clinic and any other reminders of him as well.

  “But we know that some survived, and if we know our Anders he’s going to do everything in his power to go back and help them,” Isabela pointed out.

  Suddenly Fenris thought of Karl and of the lengths Anders had gone to to rescue him. It was true that Karl had been his lover, but Anders had often spoken of his contacts in the Circle as his friends, people he cared deeply about. Suddenly what Isabela was saying seemed very possible.

  “I do not like the idea of returning to Kirkwall given how we left it,” he said, grimacing, “But if you two truly believe that Anders will return there…”

  “He will be heading East if nothing else,” Isabela said, “There are no Circles West of here except for in Rivain, and I’m almost certain he wouldn’t go there.”

  “Alright,” Fenris finally said, sighing, “Isabela, is there anyone in the city you know who might have seen him?”

  “I can ask around,” she said but all three of them knew that the chances of anyone having noticed the mage were slim. Without a stave he was just another cloaked figure enjoying the Satinalia celebrations. 

  “We should check the merchants if we can,” Fenris suddenly said, “I am certain he would have bought a staff before leaving.”  

  “Oh, that’s a good idea Fenris! Yes, we should do that first,” Merrill said.

  “Alright, how about we pack and while you two do a little investigating I’ll go meet with some of my contacts. We’ll all meet at my ship at sunrise and decide from there what to do.” 

  “I believe that is as good a plan as any,” Fenris said with a sigh. Merrill raised her arm as if to try to give him comfort but thankfully at the last moment pulled back. 

  Instead she spoke, “We’ll find him Fenris, between the three of us.” When he turned to look at her her eyes were full of conviction and for a moment he felt a small sense of hope. “That’s what friends do,” she said, “And we are his friends.”

  
  
  


  There were almost no merchants actually open this late at night (or early in the morning, depending on one’s perspective) and Fenris quickly felt frustration creeping in. He walked silently beside Merrill, eyes searching out every passerby for a hint of blond hair or a long, lean figure. Every once in awhile he would see someone who vaguely matched that description but they always turned out to be someone else.

  Merrill, mercifully, spoke little as they moved from stall to stall, crossing over bridges and skulking beside the waterways that ran through the city. She seemed just as determined as Fenris and he wondered about the fact that she and Anders had apparently grown far closer than they had been in Kirkwall.

  He supposed it made sense. Merrill had always been kind to them, despite the way that they had treated her and Anders had always been fond of her, despite the fact that he believed her to be misguided. Fenris might have judged but, he thought to himself gloomily, he was in love with a former abomination and a man who blew up Chantries, so he really didn’t have a place to speak from.

  Every so often they would come across a merchant who was still open, almost all of whom operated out of back alleys and who gave off a generally shady aura. They seemed exactly like the kind of people to sell a mage staff and while some of them did none of them recalled selling any that night to a tall, blond man.

  “This is fruitless,” Fenris said finally. The sky had gradually begun to lighten and he knew that the time to return to the ship was quickly approaching. It was beyond frustrating to have learned nothing and he could not help but wonder if they would ever find Anders. The problem was not merely that they were trying to find their friend but that said friend was actively evading them.

  He had escaped from the Chantry on seven separate occasions and from the Grey Wardens once. To say that Anders was skilled at this was an understatement. Between the two facts Fenris quickly found himself losing any hope.

  But he couldn’t just stop his search. Anders had to be somewhere and, wherever that was, Fenris was going to find him.

  “Wait,” Merrill said, looking ahead of them, “There- That man- Let’s ask him.”

  Fenris looked to see where she was pointing and saw a dwarf leaning against the side of a building. Next to him lay some weapons and armor and as Fenris’ eyes scanned the items they caught on a lone stave. 

  “Most likely a waste of time like all the others,” he said, voice dour.

  “Well, it can’t hurt can it?” Merrill asked, already beginning to walk towards him. With a long sigh Fenris followed her, fully expecting their conversation to go as it had with all of the other merchants they had spoken to.

  “Well, hello,” the man said, looking up at them as they approached, “Can I interest you in some fine dwarven wares? Forged by the great masters of Orzammar?”

  “Perhaps,” Merrill said, “Though I’m more interested in any staves you might have.” She looked pointedly at the one that remained.

  “Oh that? Merely a walking stick,” he said, “Got it in with my shipment of other goods, funny that.” 

  Fenris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The Templars in Antiva were just as strict as in any other country but it had to be obvious that neither he nor Merrill were there to turn the merchant in.

  “Of course,” Merrill said, “But a walking stick would prove very useful, I think.”

  “Well, I think you’d enjoy this one a lot,” he moved to grasp the staff in order to better show it to her and Fenris took the opportunity to send Merrill a look. 

  “We are also curious,” he said, “If you happened to sell any of your other walking sticks recently.” Merrill might have been content to chat with every merchant in Thedas but Fenris understood what little time they had.

  The dwarf raised an eyebrow at him and then slowly said, “I have, indeed. To a fine young gentleman.”

  “Blond?” Fenris asked, suddenly much more interested, “Tall and scraggly looking?”

  The dwarf said nothing for a moment, instead looking between the two.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said, “Maybe he was blond, maybe he was brunette. It was hard to see in the dark.”

  Fenris knew that he wanted money for the information but his first instinct was to threaten the dwarf. Did he not see that they were on important business? Apparently not for he continued to look at Fenris and then at Merrill expectantly.

  “Perhaps,” Fenris said, fishing several silver coins out of his purse, “This will help?”

  “Oh yes,” the dwarf said, “I think it will.” Still he waited until Fenris had given him the coins and he had bitten down on each one to speak.

  “Tall blond bought a stave off of me just a few hours ago and then asked me about any ships that might be leaving the harbor for the Free Marches. Told him about a few but that none would be leaving until the early morning. Thanked me and then left.”

  “Did he say anything about where specifically in the Free Marches?” Fenris still wasn’t convinced that he would return to the Kirkwall and the dwarf just shrugged.

  “No. Didn’t seem particularly interested in one ship or the other though I told him about a few.”

  “He’s probably around the area, though,” Merrill said thoughtfully. “Thank you, this has been very helpful.”

  It wasn’t everything but Fenris had to agree. Likely Anders was still within the city and if they could just get to him before he managed to board a ship, well…

  He didn’t know what, exactly, would happen when he and Anders saw each other again. He could hope and he could dream but ultimately the mage had made the decision to abandon him. 

  They turned to leave then, after the dwarf thanked them for their coin, and began to head down to the docks eager to see what Isabela had discovered.

 

  Isabela, as it turned out, had discovered an old friend of hers. One that Fenris, though not Merrill, had even met before. 

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man said through a lilting Antivan accent, “I am Zevran, of Antiva City.”

  Isabela leaned against him, dark eyes full of mirth, “You’re being modest again, Zevran.”

  He raised two eyebrows at her as if shocked by the accusation. “Me? Modest? I think not. And it is no less than the truth.”

  “You are the Crow,” Fenris supplied with a small frown, “I remember- With Hawke-”

  “Ah yes, that particular lady,” Zevran said, “I was grateful that she chose to let me go, rather than to try and take me into custody. Things might have gotten quite bloody.”

  “As it so happens,” Isabela said, “Zevran is looking to go East, and has agreed to help us so long as we take him as far as we’re going.”

  “You are hunting, er, searching for an old friend are you not?” He asked.

  “Something like that,” Fenris replied. Isabela had told him several stories about Zevran and they had left him uncertain as to whether he could trust the man or not. Still, he was clearly a skilled rogue and Fenris would be grateful for whatever aid he could give. 

  “Well, I am very good at finding people,” he said with a smirk, “Even those who desperately do not wish to be found.”

  “Speaking of,” Isabela started, “What did you two learn?”

  Merrill quickly filled the two rogues in on what she and Fenris had discovered about the man they were almost entirely certain was Anders.

  “Perhaps he is still in the city then?” Zevran asked, “This might all be over before you know it.”

  “Let’s scour the docks and the taverns around here,” Isabela said, “It’ll be far easier to catch him on land than to try and guess what ship he would take.”

  “Agreed,” Fenris said. “I think it would be best if the rogues split up-” He was about to offer to go with Isabela but she and the witch made near immediate eye-contact and he resigned himself to searching with the Crow instead.

  “We meet back here in an hour- The ships will start leaving then and if we haven’t found Anders it’s likely he’ll be trying to board one of them.”

  Fenris nodded and tried to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach. They had a much smaller search radius now but he couldn’t help but be pessimistic. When he looked up again it was to find Zevran watching him very closely.

  “I am sure that we will find your friend,” he said, his expression nonchalant, as if they were all playing a game of hide-and-seek with the mage, rather than trying to hunt him down.

  “We should move now,” Fenris said in reply and stepped past the rogue who fell into an easy walk beside him. Merrill and Isabela moved the other way, their conversation quickly fading into nothingness.

  “You know the city well?” Fenris asked, after a moment.

  “Not as well as Antiva City but I have spent a fair bit of time here, yes.”

  “Then perhaps you should lead,” Fenris said, “If he is waiting for the first ships of the day to depart he will likely be hiding away in a tavern, and not a nice one.”

  “Oh, I know  _ several  _ of those establishments,” Zevran replied with a chuckle and Fenris had to resist the urge to snipe at him. Zevran was helping him but there was nothing about the situation which seemed humorous to Fenris. Instinctively he curled his gauntleted hand into a loose fist and then relaxed it, exhaling slowly through his nose. 

  “Then we shall go to them.”

  Zevran didn’t immediately respond and Fenris was quickly starting to itch under the weight of his stare. 

  “Yes?” He said, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice, instead going for apathetic.

  “This man you are seeking- His name is Anders, yes?”

  The Crow’s voice was by far too curious. And by far too  _ knowing _ .

  “Merely an epithet, or so I have been told.”

  “You know that I knew the Warden Commander, Surana, yes?” Zevran looked off into the distance, obviously recalling a fond memory or, more accurately, person. “She apparently traveled with an Anders at one point. I was merely curious as to whether it might be the same man. Though, how odd it would be, for our paths to cross!” He chuckled, “It would be  _ quite  _ a coincidence.”

  Fenris was beginning to wish that he had just gone off by himself to search for Anders. He didn’t like the man’s voice and he especially did not like those questions. He knew that Anders had been a Warden but that he had not left them under the best of terms.  

  Would the Wardens take him back, if they discovered him? Would they _ force  _ him to return with them?

  “This place,” Fenris said instead of responding to either Zevran or his own anxious questions. “This seems a good start.” 

  The bar had about it the same sort of smell The Hanged Man had- Boozy, with an underlying odor of sickness and unwashed bodies. Its proximity to the sea even gave it that same sort of briny smell, the one that had permeated so much of Kirkwall but especially the lower neighborhoods. All that was missing was a large, ugly sign out front and the promise of Varric or Isabela inside.

  “Of course,” Zevran said, pretending not to notice that Fenris had completely ignored his questions. The warrior had a feeling that it was not the last time he would be asked.

  They stepped inside and Fenris grumbled at the feeling of his feet sticking to the tacky floor of the bar. He had not yet adopted the habit of wearing shoes but it was times like these he regretted some of his life choices.

  A quick scan showed only dockworkers, prostitutes and other unsavory types. And while Anders definitely fit into the latter category Fenris didn’t see a single hint of blond hair or a staff.

  They both walked to the barkeep who was doing her best to be subtle about the once over she was giving them. It would have worked on most others but Zevran just winked at her as they sidled up to the bar.

  “Two whiskeys,” he said, holding up his middle and pointer finger. 

  “I am not here to drink,” Fenris said, shooting him a sideways look.

  “You thought I was getting you something to drink?” His tone suggested that the thought was laughable but Fenris just gave him a hard stare.

  After Zevran put down a silver the barkeep nodded and poured out too drinks which he quickly threw back under Fenris’ heavy, disapproving gaze.

  “So,” Zevran said, leaning across the bar slightly and staring at the barkeep with wide eyes. “What’s a lovely lady like you doing in a bar down here?”

  Internally Fenris groaned and looked away, trying to catch any glimpse of Anders possibly hiding in the rest of the bar. Vaguely he listened as Zevran began to flirt even heavier with the barkeep. And then he heard: “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a young blond man around here, have you? Tall, might be carrying a walking stick? He’s a friend of ours and we seemed to have misplaced him last night.”

  Zevran chuckled, a rich, indulgent thing and Fenris listened in amazement as the barkeep actually  _ giggled _ . 

  “Well,” she said, “Actually…”

  Fenris couldn’t help but turn his head around to look at her, feeling hope surge in his chest. If this woman had seen Anders they might be only a few steps away from him and Fenris- Fenris could stop him, could keep him here, safe-

  “...Had the prettiest blue eyes, is why I noticed him at all…”

  And just as quickly felt himself deflate.

  “Not A- Our friend, then,” he said. “But thank you for your time, ma’am.” 

  “O- Oh, of course,” she said and then turned back to Zevran. For a moment Fenris thought that he might start flirting with the woman again but he bid her goodbye as well and the two of them turned to leave. 

  Stepping outside again Fenris’ gaze moved to the sun, trying to estimate how much time they had wasted inside. Only fifteen minutes, perhaps, and yet there was so much more to search through.

  “Let’s keep moving,” he said, “Our time is not up yet.” He kept repeating it to himself, mentally, praying it would be true.

  Two more taverns and it was obvious that Zevran was preparing to return to Isabela. Fenris knew that it was the right move but he couldn’t help but approach another bar, another place Anders might be hiding in.

_ Please _ , he thought,  _ Let me find you. Let me…  _

__ He would apologize, the next time he saw Anders. It was a position he hated but if he had to fall to his knees- And even the thought of that had his gut curling uncomfortably- If he had to beg Anders to forgive him he would do it.

  He still could not agree with Anders, with what he had done. And yet, if Anders truly saw the Circles the way that Fenris saw the Imperium…

  Who was to say what Fenris would have done, if given the chance to strike at the heart of it? Fighting did not bring him joy, exactly, but for every slaver he killed he felt a sense of grim satisfaction, a righting in the world. 

 And the truth of it, deep in his core, was the he would apologize to Anders because he wished to walk at his side and he knew that that was the only way it would happen.

  Next to him Zevran hummed an aimless little tune and then suddenly slowed. Fenris knew he was getting ready to suggest they turn around, and was readying an argument as to why they ought to keep searching when instead the elf said:

  “Ah, that looks…”

  Fenris turned his gaze to follow Zevran’s and felt the breath leave his body.

  There, some distance away a hooded figure with a staff clinging to his back was slowly making his way towards one of the large mercantile vessels docked in the harbor. The figure turned slightly and Fenris watched as the wind gusting along the water gripped the edges of the cowl and ripped it away from the person.

  He saw long, slightly greasy blond hair and watched the way the early morning sunlight danced along it. Watched as the figure quickly moved to grip the hood and pull it back over his head.

  The figure looked around then, movements furtive, like those of an animal who knew it was being hunted. It turned, finally making eye contact with Fenris.

  It did not matter that he was far away, his vision impinged by all of the other people walking along the docks at this time of the morning. He knew those eyes, that face. Would have known them anywhere.

  Anders’ eyes stared at him, widening slightly and Fenris watched as his face blanched.

  Fenris saw then the mage quickly turning around and beginning to move, swiftly, farther and farther away. 

  It took him only a moment to shake off the shock and then he was following Anders, feet moving quickly along the paved stones. 

  He was so close- Fenris would reach him, would stop him- He would make Anders understand that he didn’t need to leave, that they could stay-

  “Fenris,” he heard the Crow behind him call out a sharp warning, “Watch yourse-”

  He looked to the side just as he collided with a dock worker walking backwards, helping carry a large trunk onto one of the waiting ships. Though he tried to side-step at the last second he felt his foot catch in something and between the filthy cursing and startled shouting he and two of the workers lay on the ground while the trunk had been dropped.

  Fenris quickly stood up, not wanting to waste any time when every moment took Anders farther and farther away, only to be stopped one of the other sailor yelled at him.

  “Hey, knife-ear, aren’t you gonna help us clean up this mess?”

  Fenris turned to stare at the sailor, a grubbily dressed human who apparently hadn’t noticed the sword strapped to Fenris’ back or his armor when he had decided to insult him.

 “My apologies,” Fenris said, though he could have just as easily threatened to beat the other men. “But I am on some important business-”

  “You aren’t gonna help us clean up this mess?”

  Quickly Fenris flicked his eyes to Zevran, expecting him to find some way to talk them out of this. 

  Instead the Crow looked back at him and said, “Go and get him. I will assist these gentlemen.” His tone, however, suggested that helping the men was the last thing on his mind.

  Fenris didn’t need to be told twice but though he turned to continue his pursuit he was stopped when one of the men grasped the collar of his armor and tried to tug him back.

  Fine- These men wished for a fight, and he would give it to them.

  He turned very suddenly, throwing off the sailor who had grabbed him and then pushing him back to the ground. Next to him Zevran had unsheathed his knives and held them loosely in his hands. 

  “My friends,” Zevran said, smiling as though he had not already marked them all for death, “I would ask you to reconsider fighting us.”

  One of the sailors pulled a knife out of his boot and then spat on the ground in front of Zevran and Fenris. 

  “Come on, knife-ear,” he said, and brandished his dagger, “I’m not scared of the likes of you.”

  Fenris drew his sword and then advanced, not bothering to banter with his opponents. He wanted this done and over with. Swiftly he knocked down the first man who tried to engage him, dealing a blow with the flat side of his sword to render him unconscious, and was grimly satisfied when two of the other sailors seemed to step back. 

  “Shit,” one of them said, or what he assumed was the Antivan word for it. “Maybe we should-”

 “Ah ah, too late for that now,” Zevran said before moving forward and dealing two lethal blows to the remaining sailors.

  It was over quickly, the three dockworkers having been no match for the likes of Fenris or Zevran. But as soon as the last man fell a screaming from the crowd that had gathered to watch rose up and Fenris realized that they had just murdered two men and left one unconscious in the middle of a crowded street. 

  “ _ Venhedis _ ,” he muttered as someone else yelled for the guards to be summoned. This was not Kirkwall where Aveline’s position or Hawke’s influence could protect him and while none of the other onlookers seemed ready to engage them he knew that staying there would only attract more trouble.

  “We need to leave,  _ now, _ ” Zevran murmured, not having sheathed his blades yet.

  “Go,” Fenris said, “I need to keep going after Anders.” 

  Zevran shot him a look before finally he said, “Fine, but meet us back at the ship when you are done.”

  Fenris nodded at him and then turned, the crowd of people before him parting. Uneasy, even terrified eyes lingered on him but he did his best to ignore them as he moved. He had far more important things to worry about just then.

  He began moving in the direction that he had seen Anders in though every time he looked up he saw nothing but masses of people. Distantly behind him he heard shouting, like the guard arriving, and ducked his head so as to go unnoticed.

  “Mage,” he could not help but mutter, “Please just…”

  The sound of armor clanking together was still far off but he knew that that would not be the case forever. His quick walk soon turned into a jog and then a full on sprint as he pushed and shoved past people, desperate to find Anders and evade the guardsmen that were no doubt following the very obvious trail he was leaving behind him.

  Anders had been so close- No, not quite within arms reach but he had been  _ there  _ staring back at Fenris. If only he’d been looking, if only he had shaken off the sailor who had grabbed him and just kept running. But he could not allow himself to wallow in regret, not until he had either managed to find Anders or he had failed.

  No, he couldn’t entertain that possibility. Not yet, anyway. 

  He jumped onto a crate, ignoring the startled cries of a person and the squawking of some chickens he had disturbed. Behind him he heard shouting, something like  _ ‘Get the elf!’  _ and  _ ‘Make way for the guard!’  _ but just as he had always ignored the cries of the men who had hunted him, so he ignored these too.

  Hurriedly his eyes scanned the crowd, now looking for the merest hint of a staff. Once or twice he saw a walking stick but they were all attached to people too short or two fat or not-human to be Anders.

  And then he saw a tall, slim figure quickly climbing up the gangplank to a small vessel and he  _ knew  _ it had to be him.

  He was still so far away and already his legs and abdomen burned with the strain he had put on them. He wouldn’t be able to run much longer but if he didn’t keep up the pace he was almost certain to be too late.

  “Fasta  _ vas _ ,” he hissed under his breath before taking a quick lungful of air. It burned, everything hurt, but still he pushed himself, faster and faster. If Anders boarded that ship it was all over. He could be boarding a ship destined to sail half the world away and Fenris truly might never see him again.

  He looked up again and Fenris watched as the figure paused. Slowly they pushed back the cowl and he saw that blond hair, signalling to him like a beacon. Anders’ was too far away for Fenris to clearly see his face but he appeared to be staring in his direction, as if in consideration. As if he might be-

  “Anders!” He hadn’t meant to yell it, the words feeling as though they had been ripped from his lungs. But the guards were getting closer, he was getting slower, and he couldn’t just let this happen. “Stop!” 

  Fenris didn’t know how far his words carried but as soon as he yelled them he saw the mage start and then quickly run up the rest of the way into the ship.

  He felt his heart sink as the last few passengers boarded the ship Anders was on and then watched as several sailors began to quickly and efficiently pulled up the gangplank.

  Sweat dripped into his eyes, burning them, and trailed down the sides of his face. He was too late, too late-

  “Stop!” His voice was hoarse, the yelling painful as his body fought for every spare scrap of oxygen. He knew that his cries would not stop the ship but he could not help it. He had been so  _ close _ , had held the mage in his grasp only to watch as he slipped away, like sand. 

  He just barely managed to stop running when he reached the edge of the dock, the muscles in his legs tensing and protesting. Helpless, he watched as the massive anchor was drawn up and the ship’s sails were unfurled. On the deck appeared a hooded figure that he was quickly becoming familiar with.

  The mage hadn’t bothered to pull his hood up again and this time Fenris could see his face. It was sad, so terribly sad, but all Fenris could think of was yelling for Anders, of watching the mage decide to board the ship, to run away from him.

  Fenris knew that if he did not run again, and soon, the guards would likely catch up to him. But still he remained, staring up at Anders and feeling the entire weight of his failure on his shoulders. 

  “I love you,” he said, though he was the only one to hear himself say it. And then he turned away from where he had been standing, intending to outrun the guards until he could find a way to get back to Isabela. 

  
  


  Anders stood at the deck, watching as the figure on the dock grew smaller and smaller until, finally, it turned and left. Slowly he breathed in and then exhaled, thinking that, finally, it was done. 

  He’d come so close to stopping, to running back down that gangplank. It would have been a mistake, certainly, but one he’d very nearly made. 

  Without Justice he had feared that he would revert back to being weak, to being the selfish, careless young man he had once been. It had been equal parts relief and painful that that clearly was not the case. He was older now, perhaps no wiser but certainly stronger in his convictions. And if he could ignore his own heart, could ignore the obvious pain in Fenris’ voice, then he felt confident he could do this.

  Kirkwall. He’d always known he would have to return there, someday. But though he intended to return and help what few of his friends remained he knew that it would not be his ultimate destination.

  Isabela had given him precious few bits of information in the months they had stayed in Rialto. But though she might have been hesitant to tell him the goings-on of the outside world Merrill had no such compunctions. There were times, in fact, that it seemed like she _ needed _ to talk to him- About the brutal suppression of the mages, about the Right of Annulment being called upon the mages of Rivaini at the Circle of Dairsmuid.   

  He was the only one who could comprehend her horror at so many other people like her being wholesale slaughtered. So many other people like  _ them _ .

  Though she had been raised among the Dalish Anders supposed that she had lived among humans long enough to understand their fear and hatred of mages. To experience it first-hand, even if she had never known the special sort of hell that was a Circle. 

  In the months after Kirkwall it had brought them closer together and Merrill had been all too free with her stories and worries. 

  Though he would return to Kirkwall, felt honor-bound to do so, it would not be his final destination. 

  The talk in the cafes and taverns of Antiva, likely across Thedas, had turned slowly from Kirkwall and to Cumberland where the College of Enchanters had met to discuss seceding from the Chantries. And then, finally, it had travelled to the White Spire in Val Royeaux. 

  Anders knew that he would not be welcome there, in that shining pinnacle of Chantry domination and magical imprisonment. Though necessary, what he had done would be considered extreme by many other mages and even those that privately agreed with him would try to distance themselves from him as much as possible. He knew the Circle too well to believe anything else.

  But he had spent most of his life in places that did not want him and this cause had never been about his comfort or even his safety. 

  Orlais was far away, a distant land that he had only ever heard stories of as a child or jokes as an adult. To a young Ferelden boy they had been oppressors and to an older man they had been a frequent source of raunchy humor and, mostly, good-natured teasing. 

  But now it meant something else entirely. He would go to Orlais, to finish this. And while it might very well be his death, there was every possibility it would be his freedom as well.     


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that should have been uploaded waaay sooner. With finals and going out of town the next chapter will probably also be a bit of a wait, but I promise I'll write and upload it as soon as I can.
> 
> The conversation Isabela and Fenris refer to is in the game and I feel like is an especially important one for Isabela's character.
> 
> I listened to Tereza by Trails and Ways a lot while writing this chapter and the previous one (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxPYnkMvC5w)
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos, they mean a lot!

  “How long do we wait for your friend?” Zevran asked as he casually tossed a dagger up into the air only to catch it as it fell back down. He repeated the motion calmly but did not remove his eyes from the knife as he spoke to Isabela.

  She leaned against the railing of her ship, frowning as she stared down at the busy docks below them. It had been hours since Zevran had returned without Fenris or Anders and she was growing more concerned with each passing minute.

  “However long it takes,” she said, and then amended, “Well, if he doesn’t get back before nightfall we can see if he hasn’t managed to land himself in jail. If that’s the case we’ll just break him out.”

  “Fenris is very good at running away,” Merrill said, though her voice was not as hopeful as her words, “I’m sure he’ll make it back soon.”

  “Or I’ll learn how breaking into an Antivan prison compares to an Orlesian one,” Isabela muttered.

  “Much harder as a general rule,” Zevran said, “Though Rialto’s city jail is not  _ terrible _ .”

  “See?” Merrill piped up, “Even if he does get caught it’ll be alright.”

  Isabela huffed out a breath, not wanting to argue with Merrill but not feeling nearly so optimistic. It was already nearing evening, the sun dipping lower and lower onto the horizon, and while she wanted to wait for Fenris aboard the ship she was seriously considering leaving in order to search for him.

  As she continued to stare into the steadily descending gloom she saw someone making their way slowly towards the ship and felt her breath catch.

  Zevran caught the knife but did not toss it up again, waiting for Isabela to speak.

  They had kept the gangplank lowered and she watched as the person hesitated at the end of it before steadily climbing up it. He had found a tunic with a hood on it to throw over his head and cover his otherwise brilliant white hair but the man that looked up at her was undeniably Fenris.

  “He’s alone,” Isabela said and tried to ignore the feeling of dread in her stomach. Next to her Merrill made a small, sad noise before quickly moving to where the gangway connected to the ship. 

  “Fenris,” the elf said quietly, “I- Do you need any healing? Zevran told us you ran into the guards while searching for Anders and… And…”

  Fenris raised one gauntleted hand, quieting her before shaking his head.

  “No,” he said, “Thank you for your concern Merrill but I am… Fine.” It was clear that he was not but no one was going to argue with him. He stepped up from the plank and onto the deck, looking around warily for a moment before his gaze settled on Isabela. Briefly it flitted to Zevran and then away again, his eyes downcast. 

  “I… Did not manage to catch up to Anders. He boarded a ship. And left.”

  Next to him Merrill dropped her head, her shoulders drooping as she heard the news.

  “So he’s… Gone then. To wherever that ship was going on.”

  “Yes,” Fenris said and looked away, the shame on his face obvious. 

  “Don’t,” Isabela said, stepping forward. “You are absolutely not to blame yourself for this-”

  “Isabela,” he said, “Do not… Just do not start.”

  “Fine,” she said, standing back and folding her arms over her chest.

  Fenris looked away then, sighing, “And on a boat called ‘Freedom’s Bounty,’ nevertheless.” The image of the ship sailing away, its name in bold black letters across the back, would remain with him for a long time he suspected.

  “‘Freedom’s Bounty’?” Isabela asked, voice and eyes suddenly sharp. “You’re certain that’s the name of the ship?”

  “Yes,” Fenris said, his expression grim, “That was it.”

  “I know that ship,” Isabela said, “It’s supposed to only be a merchant ship- Though I’m not surprised that they would take the odd stowaway. It takes a pretty regular shipment of wine from Rialto to Ostwick, and then from there to… To Kirkwall.”

  “So he is intending to go back,” Fenris said, feeling ill, “To… He said he had contacts in the other Circles.”

  Isabela frowned, “What news I got told me that Ostwick refused to rise up, even when some of the other Circles did.”

  Zevran nodded and added, “I have heard much the same thing. If your… Friend is going there to sow dissent I believe that he will not find himself welcome.”

  “Unless if he means merely to go back to Kirkwall,” Fenris said, though a private part of him doubted it. But who was he to say? Predicting the mage’s thoughts or actions had clearly not been his strong suite.

  “But Hawke…” Merrill started before quieting.

  “Is it possible that he means simply to go West?” Zevran asked, “Perhaps he was only trying to… Leave.”

  “No,” Fenris said, with more conviction than he felt, “I am certain that he is not intending to simply leave.” Fenris had seen the fire in Anders’ eyes, had listened to him, night after night, as he had muttered about his need to go, to help the others. Looking back up at Isabela he continued, “But we must go after him. Whatever he intends…”

  “Not tonight,” she began, only to be interrupted by Fenris.

  “We have not a second to lose- Anders may not even decide to return to Kirkwall and we-” Internally Fenris began to panic. He’d already failed to bring Anders back and now they were going to simply  _ wait _ ? To give him even more time, to put even more distance between them?

  “Fenris,” Isabela’s voice was serious, “My men are not ready to just set sail at any moment- If we are truly going to make the journey back to Kirkwall, or even just to Ostwick, we need to stock up, to prepare. That takes a few days-”

  “Isabela, please-” He didn’t want to beg but he very well thought he might. 

  “No,” she said, every inch the captain she was. She must have seen something in his face, however, because finally her voice softened. “Our ship will be faster anyway- We need time to prepare to make the journey but we’ll make up for it, likely well before they dock in Ostwick.”

  It did not satisfy Fenris, not by any stretch of the imagination. But he knew that Isabela was right, and that, what was more, it was out of his hands now.

  Ducking his head he said, finally, “Of course, that all makes… Perfect sense.”

  Isabela just watched him, looking no happier than he felt. Finally, however, she stepped back and said, “We can remain on the ship for now- I’m sure the city guard are actively looking for both you louts,” she gave both Fenris and Zevran a look before continuing, “And there’s no reason to go back to that apartment.”

  “You wound me Isabela,” Zevran started, “You really think the guard could capture one such as myself?”

  “No,” she said, “But we should leave as soon as we can- And I am  _ not  _ running around Rialto in order to try and find you.”

  “Fair,” He replied, and though Fenris was curious as to why, exactly, he wanted this passage on Isabela’s ship he did not ask. 

  “Now,” the pirate said, “To bed with all of you- Or at least, get out of my sight.” He wasn’t used to such harsh words from her and instantly felt guilt consume him again. If he had managed to stop Anders they wouldn’t have had to worry about this. If he had thought to go after him sooner, after he’d realized that he had disappeared- If he hadn’t fallen asleep, if he hadn’t made love to him at all-

  He swallowed his regrets down, though they burned deep in his gut. The best thing he could do now, to make this up to Isabela, would be to obey her. And so he turned away, leaving behind the other three and moving to the door that would lead below deck. He followed it down easily enough, still remembering the short route to the room that had become so familiar to him.

  Stepping into it he stared at the two empty bunks that sat against the wall. Only one had ever been occupied while he had been there, Anders having quickly decided that he would rather sleep anywhere that was not with Fenris.

  It had been unsurprising. And it should not have hurt nearly as much as it had at the time. Nearly as much as it still did.

  Fenris closed the door behind him and locked it. He leaned against the rough wood, feeling it scrape against his armor. Slowly he let himself slide to the floor before resting his head against his knees. He ought to have been above deck, thanking Isabela for helping him in this. Thanking her for still caring enough to go after Anders.

  There were a great many things that he should have been doing, that he would have been doing, were he a better man.

  But instead Fenris, former slave, Tevinter fugitive, continued to sit there, holding his head in his hands and trying to muffle the sounds of his sobbing. 

 

  The journey from Rialto to Kirkwall was in almost every way worse than when they had first fled the smoking hull of the city. They had taken a few days to stock the ship and prepare for another voyage and yet Isabela had been true to her word. Her ship was faster, sleeker than the overburdened hull that would be the mercantile ship Freedom’s Bounty. A leg of the trip that had taken four or five days away from Kirkwall was accomplished in three and Fenris felt some of his despair lift.

  Not entirely, of course. For while a part of his anxiety rode his hard, demanding that he reach Anders as soon as possible, there was a larger part of him that felt a physical sense of dread at the very idea of returning to Kirkwall.

  It had been the home of some of his greatest triumphs, and yet some of his worst days. A city where one could turn a corner and happen across a cruel Templar guard, an impoverished cretin or a walking skeleton. His friends, or perhaps comrades was the better word, had made the city livable but he had run from so many of them in the end.

  As he sat on the edge of the ship, his legs hanging off the side and his arms crossed on the railing he thought of all of the faces he had left behind.

  Varric, his glare boring into Fenris’ back as he pretended to kill Anders.

  Aveline, who would never forgive him for abandoning Kirkwall in her time of need.

  And Hawke…

  Maker, he did not even want to imagine what Hawke would say to him, if he was unlucky enough to see her again. If she discovered what he had done.

  His heart clenched in fear at the thought of what she would do to Anders if she discovered he was alive. They were sailing for Kirkwall but a part of him almost hoped that Anders was going somewhere far, far away, even if it meant being away from him.

  As quickly as it had come, his fear morphed into misery as he thought of Anders. The sight of him quickly scrambling up the gangplank and onto the ship, running  _ away  _ from him, would be forever burned into his mind’s eye.

  He snorted dourly, thinking that he at least partly deserved it for having left Hawke all those years ago in the exact same way. And yet he did not think that she had ached for him, the way that he now ached for Anders.

  Fenris wondered too, if this was how Anders had felt as he had made the journey from Ferelden to Kirkwall in order to save Karl. But the differences were so great that he couldn’t truly draw that parallel. 

  Karl had wanted Anders. He had needed the other mage. Anders clearly had no use for one such as Fenris.

  He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice the rogue that settled in next to them until they huffed a sigh and said, “What a lovely night for brooding.”

  Fenris frowned and looked up to see Isabela with her arms propped up on the railing, much as his were. She was watching the night sky, her dark hair wisping around her face, caught by the breeze coming off of the ocean below. He could have argued with her, could have tried to deny what he was doing, but instead he just huffed out a breath and then looked away from her.

  “I know you’re going to do it anyway,” she started, “But you shouldn’t blame yourself. Anders made his choice. Wasn’t much you could do after that.”

  Fenris looked to her, a little surprised. Isabela had always been kind to him, under her veneer of careless hedonism, but he had not expected her to come out and comfort him. 

  “And I mean, had you caught up to him, what then? Not that I wouldn’t have loved to see you throw his bony ass over your shoulder and drag him back but…” She chuckled, though it fell a little flat.

  “He… Did stop, for a moment.” Fenris finally said. “He almost… Almost turned back.” But then he had made that decision, had taken those steps up the gangplank. Fenris wondered if he regretted it now, if he was stuck aboard a ship, his chest as wound tightly with contrition as Fenris’ was.  

  Isabela took that in and then sighed quietly. “There really is nothing to say to that, is there?” 

 Turning his head he could make out the line of her smirk in the dark but it held an edge of grimness to it.

  “No,” he said, “There isn’t.”

  She nodded and then, as if by magic, he felt the press of a flask in his hand. He looked down at it for a moment before tipping it back and letting the liquor flow into his mouth. It was at turns sweet and harsh and when he swallowed he felt fire bloom in his belly, immediate and comforting in its familiarity. They passed the flask back and forth, not speaking for some time.

  “Isabela,” he finally said, just as his eyelids began to grow almost too heavy for him to keep open. “Have I made a mistake?”

  She hummed, seeming far less affected by the alcohol which was either unfair or disturbing, or perhaps a mixture of both. 

  “Maybe,” she said, as if they were not sailing half-way across the world to try and rescue a man that hadn’t even loved Fenris enough to stay. 

  “Maybe?” He swung around to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. “That is not-  _ Maybe _ ?”

  She shrugged, a hapless gesture but when Fenris just kept staring at her she sighed and rolled her eyes. 

  “Okay loverboy,” Fenris scowled at her but she just continued, “Maybe you’re not making a mistake. Maybe we’ll get to Kirkwall, you and Anders will see each other, your eyes will meet and it’ll be like the last few years didn’t happen. You’ll fall into each other’s arms and then you’ll-”

  “Isabela,” Fenris grumbled, and she mercifully refrained from continuing down that particular path. In too much detail, anyway.

  “...And it’ll be delicious. And Isabela will be allowed to watch.  _ Or _ -”

  “Or?”

  “Don’t interrupt me Fenris- Now- As I was saying- All of that wonderful stuff will happen. Or we’ll get to Kirkwall and… None of that will happen.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” Fenris replied, frowning and suddenly wishing that Isabela would give him the flask back. “I do not-” He huffed out a breath. “I do not wish to make that kind of mistake. And yet, I could not help but go after him.”

  “Love will do that to a person,” she said, “Makes you do all sorts of foolish things.”

  Fenris thought of arguing with her, of denying his feelings, but knew it was pointless. And what was more, he was tired of running from these feelings. He was afraid that having done so for so long was what had cost him Anders, in the end. 

  “But,” Isabela started again, “I do think that people are far too afraid of making mistakes.”

  “I wonder why that would be,” Fenris dead-panned, earning a snort from Isabela. 

  “I’m serious you know. People are always fretting about their past, things they could have done different but never will. Things they should have said but don’t. Not realizing that their mistakes make them who they are.”

  Fenris blinked and looked at her, surprised. It wasn’t that he thought Isabela to be foolish, he knew better than that, just that he… Hadn’t expected that sort of advice from her. Slowly he looked forward again, out at the sea water which churned and splashed at the bow of the ship, spraying him every so often.

  “You… Said that, once before, to someone.”

  “I did,” Isabela replied.

  “We were… Walking along the docks. The smell of fish was revolting and someone said something to you-” He exhaled suddenly as the memory finally resolved more clearly in his head. “It was Anders. He asked you if you had any regrets and you said that to him.”

  “Yes,” Isabela said, “None other than our little Andy.”

  Fenris thought on that for a moment, that both he and Anders would be the recipients of such advice.

  “We really are too alike,” he finally said, voice bitter. “Varric used to tell me that, but I never listened to him. Foolish of me, when his very business was in studying characters.” 

  Isabela shrugged, “You know better now, at least. And it’s not as if Anders is lost forever.”

  Fenris wasn’t sure that it was true but he hoped that it was. 

  “Well,” she said, stretching her arms up and sighing loudly, “Good talk.”

  Fenris blinked at her, at first shocked before slowly, tentatively, smiling. He didn’t feel better exactly, but he could not deny that he felt… Lighter than he had when he had first settled down at the railing.

  “Thank you Isabela,” he mumbled. “I do not…”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it sweet thing,” Isabela returned, “Or rather- Maybe think of me whenever you and Anders  _ do  _ get back together and have hot, smoking-”

  “ _ Isabela _ ,” she laughed despite his grumble and, against his every wish, he found himself smiling at her in the darkness.

  She rose from her seated position gracefully and was about to walk away before she stopped and moved back to him. He felt the flask dropped into his lap and though they had drunk a good amount of it when he lifted it he heard the tell tale sloshing of liquid still inside.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning bright and early,” she said, “I’ll learn to make a sailor out of you yet.”

   He chuckled softly as she walked away, the flask sitting idly between his thighs. It was tempting, of course, but Fenris found himself ignoring it the rest of the night as he sat at the railing, watching the moon and thinking that Anders must have been looking at the same one. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for another chapter without Anders but I promise that the next one will be a lot more focused on him.
> 
> Also, yes, there are Seekers in Kirkwall. This... Is probably where I'm going to diverge quite a bit from canon. I don't know that I'll include any of the events from Inquisition but Cassandra will be making an appearance.

  “Its Kirkwall,” Merrill whispered, though with the way the wind was whipping around them and the gulls crying overhead there was no reason for her to be so quiet. The skyline of the city could be just barely discerned from their position at the deck though the great cliffs which protected the city made it difficult. 

  One could see the most important buildings- The apex of the Gallows, Viscount’s Keep and there, to the right of them…

  No one said anything of it but they all felt it. As if Kirkwall had once been a tapestry of which a significant part had been cut out. The Chantry’s absence was obvious and as their ship slowly sailed past the twins and into the harbor proper, the sense of dread and unease only increased. 

  Around them ships still moved, carrying both people and goods for sale. The docks were full of workers, full of those embarking for land and others just now setting sail. It was, in some ways, as it had always been, and yet everything had changed since that fateful day. 

  Fenris rested his forearms on the railing, his face neutral though he felt an undeniable sense of wrongness upon entering the city. Kirkwall had always been home to more than its fair share of horrors- Blood mages, abominations, red lyrium and cults- But he had never stopped to question why it was that the city would so often be at the center of such atrocities. 

  He suspected that he had had to leave and then return, in order to appreciate the difference. The very air here was different, the water churning around their boat strangely. Even where the water lay untouched it sloshed and swirled in mesmerizing patterns that threaten to lure one to their death. He did not like it, and it only made the sense that something was going to go terribly wrong here that much worse. 

  “Those ships bear a strange insignia” Zevran murmured from his side, “A sun, with an eye laid over it.” The four of them, Zevran, Fenris, Merrill and Isabela, all turned to look carefully at the ships. None of them could identify it, exactly but it seemed vaguely menacing.

  A single eye, back-lit by the tentacle-like rays of some sun. Staring out at them, at the city, passing its judgement. 

  Merrill shuddered and Isabela said, “I wonder if those belong to the Seekers we started hearing about.”

  “It would make sense, I believe,” Zevran said, “I have never met one of their kind but…” 

  Fenris frowned. He’d heard, vaguely, about the Seekers and supposed that they were here to investigate the destruction of the Chantry. Would they be searching for him and the others? They had, after all, known Anders well and had been witnesses to the Chantry of Kirkwall’s final moments. 

  “Perhaps,” Isabela started, “It would not be so terrible an idea to dress as inconspicuously as possible again.”

  “I agree,” Fenris said, “This… If we can finds Anders in the city without alerting Hawke… That would be ideal.”

  Even as he said it he felt his perturbance grow. Though the sky over the city was relatively clear he knew that there was a storm coming for them. Briefly he looked to Isabela, as if he might yet stop her, but said nothing. 

  They had weathered worse, he told himself. Besides, they had come all this way for Anders and he would not turn away from that now. 

  He would not abandon him.

  They all watched, suddenly tense as they passed through the statues that held the giant chain nets that was so famous for protecting Kirkwall from disaster and invasion- Or rather, failing to. It was an uneasy feeling as they finally cleared it, to think that it might very well be raised and trap them inside.

  It had been so long since Fenris had stepped foot in Kirkwall and yet not nearly long enough. He remembered many parts of it vividly, the smell, the downtrodden and greasy look of the people who inhabited it, and yet experiencing it again, coming back, was worse than he had prepared himself for.

  He told himself that they would not be here for so long, that they would leave eventually. It did very little to ease the tension in his chest, the coiling feeling in his gut of wrongness.

  When they docked the entire ship shuddered, as if upset itself to have found itself docking in Kirkwall. The thought might have made Fenris smile, had he thought himself capable of it.

  As it was he pulled his hood up over his head and watched as his companions did the same. They were all armed but had taken pain to be as subtle as possible- He wore a significantly smaller sword at his back and both Isabela and Zevran had hidden any traces of their knives or other weapons on their persons. Merrill’s staff had been stripped of any runes or other obvious signs of arcane power and though it still worried Fenris to walk beside her, he knew that it was the best that they could do. 

  Besides, the alternative was to keep her from using one and being defenseless in Kirkwall had never been an option.

  Disembarking they began to wander their way through the city. Though there remained a steady flow of people exiting and entering the city it seemed much less crowded than when Fenris had first come here, ten years ago. Anders’ fault, he supposed, and tried hard to suppress the conflicting emotions that that thought caused in him.

  Flicking a look to Isabela he said, “Should we truly risk trying to go through customs? Will we not be very easily recognized?”

  Isabela hummed and then gave him a short, subtle nod, barely an inclination of her chin. 

  “Zevran, dear,” she said, “Would you do us the honors of distracting that gentleman over there?” She angled her head towards the mark before continuing, “We will slip past him while you are using your… Wiles on him.”

  “Of course,,” he responded, “I do so love a good game of pretend.” Moving forward he parted from the group and pushed the hood off his head back to reveal his blond hair. The expression on his face, when Fenris looked at it, was eeriely similar to the look that he had used when they had been looking for Anders in Rialto.

  “Lead the way,” Fenris murmured to Isabela as they all watched Zevran begin to talk to the customs officer. He put his hand on his arm, squeezing gently, and the man appeared all but enraptured.

  Isabela nodded and then grinned at him, “Of course.”

  They had discussed several different places to stay in while onboard the ship, and had rejected almost as many. They had all, with the exception of Zevran, become so well known in the city by virtue of traveling with Hawke that trying to decide on a place where they could lay low was nearly impossible.

  The Alienage was out for although the elves there had little interested in cooperating with the City Guard Isabela had been certain that they would welcome Merrill’s return and draw far too much attention.

  No one wanted to stay in Darktown and while it remained an option, in theory, they had quickly decided that there  _ had  _ to be some other place.

  The Hanged Man… Absolutely not. It was one of the places where they had spent a significant amount of time and Isabela knew that the moment they stepped into that bar word would be sent to Hawke and they would be captured. Besides, if Varric were there…

  Fenris shifted uncomfortably at the thought. He remembered the look Varric had given him, after he had faked Anders’ death. Though he was hard pressed to call Varric a friend they had had a good relationship and to see only hatred and disgust in the man’s eyes, after everything they had been through…

  No, the idea of staying at the Hanged Man had not truly been an idea at all.

  Finding some hovel in Lowtown was an option but it was difficult to trust anyone in Kirkwall, especially given what had happened. And although they had tried to remain updated with any news they could grasp there was truly no telling what information Hawke had spread in their absence. 

  What if Isabela called upon an ally in the city, only for them to turn them all over?

  It was exhausting to think this way and yet all too familiar to Fenris. It brought him back to his days as a fugitive, constantly on the run from slavers. He remembered the way his mind had been forced to work, constantly. How he had never seemed to truly rest.

  It was eventually decided that they would stay in Fenris’ mansion, though the thought made him extremely uncomfortable. It had, after all, once been his home. A paltry example of one, but it had been his. To suddenly have it taken over sat uneasily with him but he didn’t see that they had much in the way of choice.

  Though he had always entered through the front door, gossiping Hightowners be damned, this time they all entered by scaling the garden wall and slipping through one of the back patio doors. None of them were technically hunted but it would be easier for everyone if they could find Anders and leave Kirkwall without Hawke having known that they were in the city at all.

  The patio door swung open silently, a miracle given that the hinges had probably not been oiled since Danarius had taken residence here a lifetime ago. They all stepped into the dark building, trailing behind Fenris who walked among the broken glass and shattered tiles with a confidence borne of familiarity. 

  “This is… Cozy,” came the lilting accent of the Crow from behind them. Fenris fought the urge to snap at him, this was his home and he would do with it as he pleased, when suddenly they entered into the main room.

  He stared, and stared. 

  To his right Isabela stepped up and placed a hand on his shoulder while behind him Merrill sighed very quietly. Zevran, thank the Maker for small mercies, was silent.

  In the middle of the main room lay a massive chunk of Chantry wall, the edges of the bricks blackened from soot and fire. Above it caved a massive hole in the roof, jagged edges and broken off pieces of wood and roof tile a testament to the destruction the debris had wrought. 

  “You did live close to the Chantry,” Isabela murmured. 

  “I… Practiced in this room,” he said after a very long stretch of silence. “So many nights, moving from one side to the other. Had I not been with Hawke and the others that night…”

 Fenris felt the horror of it distantly. He would have been just another casualty and he could not help but wonder, bitterly, if Anders would have much cared had he been crushed to death. 

  “You were,” Isabela said, voice firm, “You were.”

  He said little else, just turning away from it and beginning to head up the stairs to his room. Likely it was in the same state that it had been when he had left, only a thin layer of dust to prove that he had left at all. At the top of the stairs he stopped, however, and turned back to his companions.

  “There are many rooms in this home, you are welcome to any of them.” With that said he turned back, leaving them standing in the main room, the chunk of wall watching them with silent, weary eyes. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this fic updated once a week? Ah, good times.

  He passed along the dim, stinking alleys of Darktown dressed like most of the other poor souls who had been trapped down here. His grungy hood had been pulled low over his head and a thick scarf covered most of his face though he was careful to look down at his boots as he walked so that not even a glimpse of his face was seen.

  It was daring, perhaps even asinine, to have come immediately back to Darktown. The people here knew him and while they might have been loyal to him before he knew that he had likely lost all of their support when he had detonated the Chantry.

  But there was no other place in Kirkwall for him to go to, no other place, frankly, that he felt as though he belonged in. Darktown had been his home for over a decade and while it still stank of death and rot and shit there was a familiarity that overtook him as he walked closer and closer to his clinic. 

  It was not just the environment but the very people which inhabited the undercity. Little had changed since he had left Kirkwall, all those months ago. The same beggar that huddled near where the lift stopped remained there, as did Tomwise peddling his wares. There were still far too many dirty children dressed in rags running around or, even worse, wrapped up in threadbare blankets, sick and sniffling and too lethargic to do much of anything.

  The need to help them, to use his magic for good, ate at him as he made his walk. No one spared him a second glance but, foolish though it might be, he almost wished he would catch the eyes of one of the refugees. He wanted to tell him that the Healer of Darktown had returned, that he-

  But no, that was not why he had returned to Kirkwall.

  He had returned to rescue the last of mages, the ones who had survived Hawke’s onslaught. He intended to leave with them and then continue on his quest to end the Circles. And if he were to cross Hawke’s path, well…

  He shook the thoughts from his head. This was not about vengeance and despite how his blood burned, despite the bile at the back of his throat, he would not give in.

  Descending one flight of stairs he quickly moved up another, the little dip telling him that he was only feet away from what had once been his clinic. He risked a glance up to see that the door stood firmly closed but when he saw the lantern he paused.

  It lay in front of the door, metal skeleton twisted grotesquely, glass laying in large shards around it. Every morning, for over ten years, he had stepped outside to light that lantern. It had served as a beacon, a sign to the residents of Darktown, and a good chunk of the population of Lowtown, that the Healer was in and awake, ready to care for those whom the other physicians in the city had failed.

  It had been a sign of relief, a symbol of hope for every refugee with a persistent cough, a broken leg or Chokedamp.

  And now it lay before him, unsalvageable.

  He knew that it had likely been destroyed after word had spread of his actions. He had just not expected the anger and hurt to rear up in his chest.

  Slowly he took a deep breath and then exhaled, trying to keep his temper in check. He had not even entered the clinic yet and Maker knew what had been done to it.

  Carefully he stepped around the shattered lamp and opened the door, unsurprised to find that the lock had been broken. Frankly he was shocked that anyone had bothered to shut it in the first place. After stepping inside he closed the door behind him and then turned around. Anders pushed back his hood and then started to walk the packed dirt floor slowly, gaze roving over all that remained of his clinic.

  The desk he had spent so many hours sitting at, transcribing his manifesto, had been shoved over and looked to have been attacked by swords with deep, ugly looking gouges in the wood. All of his alchemical equipment for brewing potions had been smashed, glass littering the floor, an echo of the lamp outside. Leaves and plants, including some that he had been growing in pots, lay strewn across the floor. All but one brazier had been knocked over and the fabric of most of the cots had been slashed so that no enterprising Darktown resident could have used them for a bed, even in his absence. 

  There was also, he noted clinically, a great deal of ash on the floor. Partially burned blankets lay together in a heap and on top of them someone had taken the cloth dividers he had used to cordon off his personal space. 

  His steps coming a little more quickly now he went to what had once been his bedroom, noting that his cot had suffered the same fate that the others had. The trunk that had contained his meager possessions had been opened and then dumped out, the items either disposed of or removed.

  And there, lying in the dirt, partially burned and torn, lay the remnants of his mother’s pillow.

  He had not brought it with him when he had gone with Hawke that fateful day. He had assumed he would be dead, that he would have no need for it. 

  But something about seeing it now awoke something within him. It had been the one thing, the  _ one thing  _ he had been allowed to take with him when he had been taken from his parents. It had remained with him throughout the Circle, during the Grey Wardens and he had slept next to it in Kirkwall.

  It had not mattered that the colors had faded to ugly, greying versions of their former selves from too many washes. It had not mattered than much of the embroidery had fallen out or been ripped or that he had had to sew and repair several large chunks of it. He had not cared that his mother’s scent had faded from it years ago or that he was, by far, too old to be carrying around a trinket from his mother, from a childhood that had been lost to him.

  No, he had not paid heed to any of that. 

  He felt his fists curl, felt his chest tighten. The bile in the back of his throat burned like acid now and his eyes itched.

  Some guardsman or fucking Templar had come in here to destroy his things and why? They had all believed him to be dead. What purpose had it served, to ruin his things? To break the clinic’s lantern, the one spot of light in Darktown? To ruin a little boy’s pillow, the last remnants of his home?

  He heaved a deep, unsteady breath as the rage, the hurt poured through him. 

  What petty, small minded  _ monsters.  _ All he had ever wanted was to live his life free, to have Karl by his side, to work and to heal and to use his Maker-given  _ gift _ .

  He dropped to his knees, chest moving like bellows as he gulped in air. His breath was ragged and the noise that came from his throat when his opened his mouth again was raw and terrible to hear. 

  It was all so cruel. So unfair. So  _ unjust _ .

  He raised his hands, intending to pound them into the earth, only to realize that they were shining with an ethereal blue light which now poured from the cracks in his skin.

_ Anders _ , the voice reverberated through his head and Anders gasped, his hands immediately moving to cradle his head. 

  “Justice?” He asked, confusion and disbelief whipping through his like a maelstrom. “Please- What-”

  Even when they had been joined in Kirkwall Justice had rarely spoken to him directly, instead mostly expressing himself through thoughts and feelings. To suddenly hear his voice after months of silence…

  “No,” Anders moaned, “You’re dead, Fenris killed you or- Removed you or-”

_ The Veil is… Weaker here _ , the voice wavered, as if Justice, or whoever the speaker was, was having difficulty talking.  _ Can come through… Better… _

  “You’re not real,” Anders replied, “Or you’re a- A demon meant to tempt me-”

_ I AM NO DEMON _ , and all of a sudden Anders was thinking in his voice, in  _ their  _ voice, and he knew, he  _ knew _ -

  “Justice-” he sobbed out, falling forward slightly and wrapping his arms around his knees. Tears, of  confusion, of sadness, of joy, streamed down his face as he tried to take in the realization that Justice had been alive all this time, merely dormant and unable to communicate with Anders. 

_ I am sorry _ , their thoughts spoke,  _ I am sorry I caused us this pain _ .

  “No, no,” Anders shook his head, “It wasn’t your fault it was-” 

  He had ceased to feel Justice when he had awoken on that ship, at least a day’s journey if not more from Kirkwall. And he had been so certain that it meant that Justice was gone, had immediately leapt to the assumption that Fenris had destroyed Justice. 

  He had ignored Merrill’s opinion, so certain that he was right. Arrogant, as always. 

_ This place,  _ their thoughts continued,  _ The Fade is more present. It is not always so.  _

  “Justice,” Anders said, sniffing a little, “I’m glad- I’m glad you’re alright.” And he was. His closest friend was alive. The world might have felt as though it were falling down around him but he had Justice and that was something. 

_ Much… Happened while I slept _ . 

  “Yes Justice,” Anders said, “And there will be much more.”

_ Justice for Kirkwall _ , they thought,  _ Justice for Thedas _ .

  Anders chuckled, a watery sound. He had stopped crying and slowly he sat up, rubbing at his cheeks with the sleeves of his jacket. He could not set up his clinic again, not with the way that Kirkwall was, but he could at least stay here for a little while, taking advantage of one of the boltholes hidden in the clinic. It was possible that the Templars might have found that too but frankly he doubted it. 

  Slowly he stood, giving his mother’s pillow one long, last glance before he began to move past his cot and to the places in the wall. He had created two in his clinic, one close to the pathway that led to Hawke’s mansion and the other just beyond the little area he had claimed as his room. He  chose that one to go to, standing before the wall and raising his hand. He cast a small spell, needing only a little bit of magic to dispel the illusion he had placed over the door to the bolthole.

  It melted away and he allowed himself a small smile when he opened the door, revealing the small, hidden room.

  It would not be much but it would be enough for him. Besides, the little room was at least twice the size of what he had been allowed in solitary. 

  Stooping a little he made his way into the small space and then closed the door behind him. The room was musty and had obviously not been used in years, likely since the last time he had been forced to hide after an unexpected Templar raid that Hawke had failed to protect him from. He grunted at the memory but let it simmer. 

  Taking the bedding bundled neatly in the corner he untied it and then laid it out, sighing and sitting on it.

_ We…  _ Their thoughts started and Anders instantly perked up, waiting to hear what Justice had to say.

  “Yes?” he asked, voice soft.

_ Fenris?  _

__ Anders felt his heart sink at the reminder. If Justice had been asleep since leaving Kirkwall likely he was just now beginning to take stock of all that he had missed, running through Anders’ memories of the previous few months. Including all of the ones of Fenris.

  He had been so cruel to him. Of course, he had assumed that he had killed Justice, and he had had good reason to. But now that he knew the truth…

  Anders did not cry, but ran a hand over his face, trying to breathe steadily. He tried to remind himself that there had never been any hope for him and Fenris in the first place. That other things- Their ideals, the explosion of the Chantry, their own clashing personalities- would have torn them apart in any world.

  But his heart, his heart did not care. It ached, like a hole rent through his chest.

   “He will be a distraction to us no more,” Anders murmured, “Just as I promised you.”

  Justice hummed, a thoughtful sound.

_ We were away from Kirkwall for some time _ , they thought and Anders felt his own grief bolstered by the oddest sense of mourning from Justice, the emotions weaving together until he thought he could barely stand the hurt in his chest. He sniffled, fighting against the tears that threatened to spring to his eyes, hating himself for them.

  “Our cause,” Anders said, knowing it would be all that was needed to turn Justice righteous, to become filled with his sense of moral certainty. It was badly needed, now that he had returned to this place. 

_ We hurt,  _ Justice replied,  _ we are sorry _ .  _ Things are softer away from Kirkwall.  _

__ Anders closed his eyes, feeling one of his hands move to squeeze his opposite shoulder, controlled by Justice. Outside of the Fade it was the only way for him to comfort Anders and unbidden the mage felt a tear trail down his cheek.

  “Not your fault,” he said, voice raw, “It’s better this way.” 

  Once, Justice would have agreed without question. Would have approved of Anders’ selflessness.

  Instead the hand squeezed again.  _ Friend,  _ they thought,  _ We _ …

  “He does not want me.”

_ Lies _ , but the accusation was gentle. Though he was only now awakening Justice was still privy to all of Anders’ memories of the past few months.

  “I don’t want him-” 

_ Lies _ . His tone was more forceful as he looked into Anders’ heart and saw the truth there. Anders might have argued but it would have been fruitless. Justice was incapable of deception, and besides, the mage knew his own feelings well enough.

  “Well,” he said, “It matters little now. You know that I left him behind in Antiva. Our mission was too important- He could never understand that.”

  And even if Fenris hadn’t killed Justice, even if Fenris did love him there was no getting around the fact that he would, and could never stand at Anders side as he completed his journey. Anders had returned to Kirkwall to save what mages he could from Hawke’s wrath- It was not a path that Fenris would willingly walk down.

  He remembered once, Fenris warning him that his quest for freedom would lead Thedas down the road to another Imperium. He’d rallied against the thought, for although he recognized the moral corruption of Tevinter he refused to accept the Circles as a solution.

  And Fenris, no matter what affection he held for the mage, could never agree to helping with such a thing. 

_ No _ , they thought, Justice’s voice slowly beginning to fade away. His emotions still remained very present, however, and Anders used this to comfort himself as he finally collapsed on the little cot that would be his bed until he had finished with Kirkwall.

  The difficulty of what he strove to do loomed before him but he knew he was strong enough for it and that, more importantly, he had no other choice. 

  But though he was still filled with the fire of revolution this was also the first bed he had encountered in days and, possessed by a spirit of Justice or not, he was absolutely fatigued and worn down. Slowly he lowered himself down, his weight sinking into the thin fabric of the cot. 

  He blinked slowly, thinking of Justice, of Fenris, and of Hawke. Of all of the revelations, all of the challenges he had yet to face. They all swirled through his mind’s eye, morphing and cleaving from each other, until finally sleep overtook him and he was able to rest.

 

  Fenris eventually came down from his rooms not because he particularly wanted to but because he knew that he had little other choice. Besides, it was not as if he had ever treated the mansion with a great deal of respect. He had, in fact, often reveled in the way that it seemed to slowly decay around him. What had once been a jewel in Danarius’ crown now lay tarnished, sporting mushrooms and broken windows, mouldering carpets and innumerable stains,. 

  It was impossible to avoid as he walked down the stairs and although it was foolish there was a small part of him that wished to try and remove the chunk of wall, by any means necessary. But it was massive by any comparison, standing nearly two stories wide. And so he was forced to look at it, to imagine taking it apart brick by brick but knowing that he never would.

  “Oh, Fenris, you’re awake!” He frowned at the voice, far too peppy and optimistic by far, but schooled his expression by the time he turned to look at Merrill.

  “Good morning,” he said, eying the windows warily, “...Or afternoon. Whichever it may be.”

  “Afternoon, by my count,” Merrill replied, approaching the other elf. There were small lines of fatigue around her eyes but she seemed adamant about putting a good face on. It struck Fenris, suddenly, that returning to Kirkwall had probably been even harder on her than it had on him. While he was concerned about Anders and possibly being caught by Hawke she had to face the very real fear of losing her life.

  Kirkwall, supposedly, no longer contained any mages. The Circle had been annulled, meaning that every last mage had been killed. And while Fenris had always distrusted mages like Merrill he had never once wanted something like this for them. 

  Slowly he turned to stare at the chunk of wall. Its presence was horrifying, but so too were all of the events that had followed. Not for the first time he wondered what Hawke had done, and where the woman that he had almost loved had gone.

  “We found some flour in the pantry but not much else- At least… Not much else that was still edible.” She wrinkled her nose as she continued, “I’ll bet the rats had quite a feast after you left by the  looks of it.”

  “Their reward for keeping me company for all those years,” he replied, still staring at the wall. Even inch of him wanted it gone by any means necessary but he was helpless to do so. Like so much else in his life, he thought gloomily. 

  Merrill laughed quietly beside him, “I once tried to tame the rats in my home. But mostly they just stole my cheese and then bit me when I would try to pet them. Oh, they didn’t like my trying to touch them at all. But, I’m sure most of the other people they’ve met have tried to hurt them so, really, can’t blame them too much. Sure they thought they were just defending themselves and their young. Perhaps if I’d tried to rear the babies- But, well, I never did find any of those.”

  Fenris eyed her for a brief moment and then looked away. He held no disdain for her, or at least, no longer held very much. For so long he’d looked down on her for her blood magic but after months spent in close quarters with her, watching her with Anders and Isabela, he’d begun to see what the others had seen in her.

  She was whimsical and kind. And although fierce in her battles she was otherwise compassionate for even the lowliest of creatures. 

  “Well, should you try again I am sure that my mansion provides ample opportunity for finding other rats.”

  Merrill smiled at him, the lines around her eyes briefly disappearing, “Oh, maybe! I don’t know that it’d be very responsible, given that we intend to leave the city as soon as we can and, well, I can’t imagine Isabela would appreciate rats on her ship but- Well- Maybe if I kept them in a glass container…”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of two sets of feet moving up behind them and without thought Fenris swiveled around, the markings on one hand around activated and his other reaching for his sword.

  “Calm, my friend, we are only returning with supplies,” Zevran and Isabela stood next to each other, carrying what looked like a good amount of foodstuff. Fenris frowned at them for a moment but finally moved to deactivate his hand and then cross his arms over his chest.

 “In the middle of the day?” He looked to Isabela, frown turning even more severe, “That was needlessly foolish. The Crow may be not be well known in the city but the same cannot be said for you.”

  Isabela rolled her eyes and, as if mocking him, crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I know that you have every right to be wary given the way we’ve left Kirkwall but trust me, no one saw Zevran or myself that we did not want to see us. Besides, there was no food here and we need to eat.”

  “We could have waited until nightfall.”

  “And purchase from who? You know that markets close at sundown.”

  Fenris frowned, “We could have… I do not know. But the point is, we must be far more careful.”

  “We  _ are _ being careful. As much as we can anyway- Besides, even if Hawke were to find us none of us are… Technically in trouble.”

  “And if she finds Merrill, what then?”

  Isabela’s stance changed from casual to defensive in the blink of an eye and although she barely moved Fenris had to physically force himself to hold his ground.

  “Nothing,” she said, “Will happen to Merrill. Or myself, or Zevran or  _ you _ for that matter.” Another blink and then she was back to Isabela, hip cocked and one finger playing with the curls of her hair. “Anyway, we’re going to go make breakfast. Or…. Lunch.” 

  With that she turned and strode away, hips sashaying with just an edge of anger to them. Merrill shot a worried look at Fenris as if in concern for  _ him  _ and then quickly turned to join her friend. Zevran, an expression of light amusement on his face, nodded to Fenris and then turned away to join the others.

  For a moment Fenris just stood there before he sighed and began to trudge towards the kitchen. Though he still did not agree with what they had done they were his friends and he would much rather their company than that of the lumbering giant waiting for him in the main room.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: Chloroform by Phoenix

   They spent the first real night in the mansion the way that they had so many nights in the small apartment in Rialto. Merrill, of all people, had a Wicked Grace deck on her person and after eating their fill they sat in one of the small libraries, only one or two candles lit to give them light, and played a few hands. 

  Fenris spent much of the night lost in his thoughts and though he knew that his distraction was obvious he couldn’t bring himself to appear more invested in the game. Around him conversation flowed, mostly idle things. Merrill asked Zevran for stories of his adventures, and then became markedly more excited when she noticed the gloves that he was wearing were Dalish. Isabela and Zevran swapped stories of their roguish adventures, each more ridiculous than the last. 

  Eventually the others began to drift off to bed, first Merrill and then Zevran, until only Fenris and Isabela were left sitting at the table.

  She sat, idly shuffling cards and humming a little tune, making so attempt to talk. Next to them the candles flickered and fought to remain alight heedless of the fact that they were nearly out of wax. 

  “Fenris,” she finally said when she had apparently mixed the deck well enough, “I know that you’re going to go out tonight to try and find Anders but I would advise against it.”

  He snorted in derision, though it was truth it was exactly what he had intended to do.

  Sighing Isabela continued, “I know it’s hard to just sit here and wait. Believe me, I understand how difficult it can be. But it’s important that Hawke does not find us. And that means not charging through Kirkwall, yelling about how Anders is still alive here.”

  Fenris felt himself deflate, knowing her words to be true. “And if somehow I miss him? If he escapes Kirkwall or I do not know- Or if Hawke finds him before I do? What then?”

  Isabela shrugged, “Then we rescue him.”

  Fenris just stared at her. “It is not that easy.”

  “Maybe not,” she sighed again and this time put the deck down, “But we’ve faced worse odds before.”

  “I do not know that that is comforting. After all, we no longer have Hawke at our backs.”

  Isabela looked up at him, something in her eyes he could not quite interpret. Finally she looked away from him. Her hand moved to the deck of cards as if to shuffle them again before passing them over and grasping the glass of wine she had been drinking.

  “No, we don’t.” She took a long swallow before putting it down again. “But I was doing pretty well before Hawke, I think I’ll manage without her.”

  “Were it that I could say the same,” Fenris replied, tone sour. 

  Hawke had done so much for him. She had aided him against the slavers who had first tried to capture him, had fought with him against both Hadriana and Danarius. She had loved him, when he had not felt himself worthy of it.

  Perhaps love was too strong of a word- Desire was the better description. But to be desired by a woman like Marian Hawke…

  “Fenris,” Isabela said, voice soft, “You don’t need Hawke. You never needed her.”

  He frowned, “That’s not true. Without her I would have…”

  Would have gone back to his master, enslaved again, chains around his wrists, around his ankles his throat-

  “Fenris,” Isabela’s voice cut through his thoughts. She leaned back, appraising him for a moment and then shook her head. “To bed with you, I think. This conversation isn’t doing either of us any good.”

  He wanted to argue with her but she was right. He was tired, he felt sick, and while sleep had never been much of an escape for him it seemed a better option than sitting and bickering with one of the few people he counted as a friend.

  “You are right, Isabela,” he said as he began to stand up from the table, “I will see you in the morning.”

  “Of course I am,” she returned, sending him a quirked little smile as he turned away from her and began heading towards his room. “Go get some sleep big guy, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

  He raised his hand briefly and then dropped it, affecting the hunched stance of someone who was tired and could not wait to crawl into bed. He made his way up the stairs slowly, ambled through the hallways to his room and shut the door behind him.

  Fenris gave himself five minutes to wait and then stepped to the window, sliding it open as quietly as he could. For a moment he stood there, taking in the view afforded him of Hightown late at night. It was surprisingly quiet, given all that had happened in the past few months, and for a moment he could imagine that none of it had.

  But the space that had once held the Chantry now lay empty, wasted. The wall in the foyer remained. There was no escaping the reality of what Anders had done.

  And yet, he intended to sneak out to search for the man himself. Not to injure or hurt him but to try and save him, the one who had done…  _ That _ .

  He threw his leg over the windowsill before following with the other one. His hands knew where all of the cracks were in the bricks and he made his way down steadily, palms scraping against the stone on occasion. 

  Once upon a time he had watched Anders at that windowsill, staring out onto the dark streets of Hightown. The memory was old, taken from the time just before he had returned to Hawke. He wondered what Anders had seen, what he had thought. Had he despised the nobles, comfortable in their manses, ignorant or apathetic to the poverty rampant throughout Kirkwall?

  No, he knew that that was not what Anders had been looking at. For that particular window afforded an uncompromising view of the Gallows.

  He dropped to the ground, feet finding purchase on the slick cobblestones there. For a moment he remained completely still, ears straining for any sound. All he heard however was the wind, not even the sound of other people out on the streets to distract his attention.

  Slowly he turned and began to pad towards the street on silent feet. How often had Anders stood at that window, looking upon his worst nightmare? He had never said much to Fenris about it, likely knowing he would not have tolerated it.

  What if Fenris had? What if he had just  _ listened  _ to the man? He had held him through nightmares, knew that at least some of his experiences in the Circle had traumatized him. He’d claimed that he was one of the lucky ones when Fenris had challenged him but it had been obvious he was lying.

  He stopped at the mouth of the alley, warily looking around for any stray bandits or groups of thugs, the sort that tended to proliferate in Kirkwall. When he saw no one he stepped out and began to edge along the buildings, keeping to the shadows as he started to make his way towards the lower quarters of the city.  

  The sense of failure threatened to overwhelm him but he carried on with grim determination. He was not going to be the man he had once been. He was  _ not  _ going to run away like some coward-

  “Fenris?”

  He froze, almost literally, in his tracks. Every muscle coiled, tight with tension.

  “Fenris, Maker it’s really you-” The voice flowed around him, as familiar as the clank of armor and the faint scent of sword oil that clung to their person.

  Slowly he turned around, his heart lurching into a panicked rhythm as the person approached him. Their face was confused though they were doing their best to smile, their arms open as if to take him into their embrace.

  His skin recoiled at the idea but he held himself perfectly still, trying to remember what it was like to breath normally, calmly, as if he had nothing to hide.

  Finally he raised his face up to look at the other person, his features bland.

  “Hello, Hawke.”

 

  Isabela remained pressed against the wall of the alley, the shadows wreathed around her as if they were a cloak. She had known that Fenris would not be able to resist sneaking out and so had moved to follow him in order to make sure that he stayed safe.

  She closed her eyes as the voices continued in conversation and repressed a sigh. She should have stopped him well before this. Should have explained to him that both her and Zevran would be able to gather information for him- Without getting caught. 

  As gently, and silently, as she could she banged the back of her head against the wall. She was infuriated with Fenris for ignoring her but even moreso with herself for letting this happen.

  Isabela reminded herself that Fenris was not a criminal and that, if he was careful, he had nothing to fear from Hawke. It sounded like the woman was overjoyed to see him again, truth be told. Now Fenris just had to play his part and, somehow, escape back to his mansion.

  Carefully she moved to the opening of the alley, peering around the edge. Hawke appeared to be alone and was now standing with her hand on Fenris’ arm, gesturing with her other one. Straining Isabela was able to hear snatches of their conversation.

  “...back with me, don’t know where you are staying but…”

  “...you Hawke, but I am fine-”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still staying in the rotting mansion-”

  Isabela felt her breath catch as she waited to hear what Fenris would say. She trusted Fenris to do his best to protect them all but Hawke was a chink in his armor he had never managed to repair. 

  Her first thought went to Merrill but though her instincts screamed for her to return to the mansion she remained where she was.

  “Of course not,” Fenris replied, the derision in his voice convincing enough that Hawke seemed to believe him. “I spent far too many years in that place.”

  “And where are you staying now?”

  He shrugged and then muttered, “The Blooming Rose.”

  Silence met that and Isabela wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Though he was turning out to be a surprisingly good actor, she could have thought of a few better places than  _ The Blooming Rose _ .

  “I do not… Partake in their services if that is what you are wondering. I was badly wounded, and someone… I do not remember who- Someone dragged me in there to try and keep me safe. I recovered there and then… Remained there.”

  “Fenris it’s been-” Hawke cut herself off, huffing a breath and then shaking her head. “Well, no matter, all I can say is that I am so happy to see you again. More… More than you realize.” 

  She sounded genuinely sorrowful and though Isabela had always had an antagonistic relationship with the other woman she could not help but feel some pity for her. 

  “...Of course, Hawke.”

  “So, you’ll be coming back with me then? I can’t imagine you’d continue to stay at the Blooming Rose if you had a choice in the matter.”

  “I- That is-”

  Isabela listened as Fenris stuttered and then finally acquiesced. Her heart sank but she tried to remind herself that not all was lost. Just as she had promised that they would rescue Anders if he were captured so too would they rescue Fenris.

  Carefully she turned back and began her silent return to the mansion. This was bad, but it wasn’t unfixable. 

  She hoped.

 

  Fenris followed Hawke back to her mansion feeling as though he were in a daze. His mind continued to circle back to his conversation with Isabela, her warning him to stay in the mansion and to simply wait. He’d been foolish and, even worse, arrogant. He had convinced himself that he could stalk the city unnoticed when he was easily one of the more recognizable of Hawke’s companions.

 Ahead of him she walked, mostly quiet though she threw the occasional look back at him. They both knew that he was lying about The Blooming Rose but were pretending otherwise.

  Fenris knew that he was a skilled performer, he had been forced to be while under Danarius’ heel, but his story was frankly unbelievable. 

  The door to her home opened and Fenris followed her inside. He still had not questioned what  _ she  _ was doing, wandering the streets of Hightown at night alone, but wasn’t sure that he wanted to know.

  In many ways she seemed like the woman he had once fallen for. Her eyes still crinkled with good humor, sharp and intelligent. Her mouth was most often set into a smile, sometimes a smirk, and even the hand on his arm had felt hauntingly familiar. 

  But though she appeared in every way like the Marian Hawke he knew, he could not ignore the persistent sensation that there was a great deal about her that he had been blind to.

  “Well, I imagine you are tired- I think it would be best to sleep and then catch up more in the morning.” The door closed behind them and when Hawke began to move up the stairs to her room he paused, uncomfortable.

  She looked back around at him, eyebrow raised, and then chuckled. “Right, sorry, you can use one of the guest bedrooms.”

  Fenris nodded and murmured his thanks, though he did not feel particularly grateful. The last time he had come here had been after he had killed Danarius and then subsequently fled from Hawke. Though they had remained on speaking terms he had never returned to her home. The idea that she would bring him back and then expect him to stay in her room was… Strange.

  Still he followed her to one of the guest rooms, idly searching the rest of the mansion for hints of Bodhan or Orana. Perhaps they were asleep, or perhaps- No, he was sure that they were fine.

  “Thank you for your generosity Hawke,” he said as he stepped into the room. There was tension between them, but they were both doing their best to pretend otherwise. Slowly he turned around to face her, resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot. 

  She stood in the doorway, cast in shadow and he could feel her eyes on him. Though her expression was difficult to see in the dim light he knew that she was no longer smiling and suddenly he felt like a mouse caught in the paw of a cat.

  He had nothing to fear from Hawke. He had done nothing wrong.

  “Goodnight Hawke,” he said, keeping his eyes on her. His sword remained at his back but- But he would never fight Hawke, of course. He had no reason to.

  “Goodnight Fenris,” she said, her voice soft and full of knowing. “May you rest easy.”

  He inclined his head and it was only when Hawke had turned away and walked down the hall to her own room that he moved to shut the door. Without thought he locked it and then stepped back, continuing to stand there for a moment.

  There was a window in the room that he could escape from, but if Hawke had found him once there was every chance she would find him again. And then how would he explain himself?

  Slowly he backed up to the bed and then sat down, not having taken his gaze from the door. He knew he would have to sleep eventually, but he was too wired to do so now.

  Still, he slowly laid down on the bed, adjusting until he was curled up slightly on his side, eyes still on the door. His armor snagged at parts of the blanket but it was a familiar sensation, come from many nights of going to bed armored- And armed. 

  As the moons made their arc across the night sky they watched, with their usual degree of apathy, the follies of the people below them.

  Isabela, sneaking back to the rotted mansion to break the news of what had happened to the two elves sleeping there. 

  Anders sitting cramped over a makeshift desk, magelight hanging in the air above him, as he pursued through months old documents and tried to formulate a plan.

  Varric, sitting at his desk with a half-full bottle of brandy and trying to write fairy tales in order to distract from the streets just outside his door.

  Cullen, awoken from nightmares again, panting and grasping at sweat drenched sheets.

  A Seeker, fast asleep but caught in dreams that had begun to torment her ever since she had set food on the docks of the harbor.

  Hawke, lying on her back and looking up at the canopy above her bed, wondering if the man that slept not twenty feet from her was friend or foe. 

  And Fenris, eyes half shut but never completely closed, watching the door and waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last section details the people who will be the major characters for this last part of the story though it may be a bit before things really come to a head. I've had the ending of this story in mind only to bypass it like... several times lmao.  
> Thank you all for you hanging on though, I appreciate it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for non-graphic discussion of murder, hate crimes, Fenris being triggered and Hawke becoming way more of a villain than I intended. 
> 
> First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their patience as it's been taking me longer to get updates out. Hopefully... That won't be the case forever.  
> I've also been kind of wishy-washy on this chapter as, while I feel like it's an important one, I don't know that everyone will agree with how Fenris acts. I think at this point in the fic he's come far enough to be horrified by what Hawke tells him, but I feel like in-game he likely would have been too.   
> Obviously he's a big supporter of the Circle but it's very telling to me, in his conversation with Bethany about them that he argues that she would be safe. For all that he clearly has a problem with magic, especially uncontrolled magic, he still sees the mages around him as people deserving of protection (or being invited to card games.) His refusal to sell them out to the Chantry is even more telling.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you guys enjoy, and hopefully the next chapter is not too long in coming.

  When he came to awareness again it was early morning, the sunlight that streamed into the room a soft yellow color. Slowly he looked around the room, his gaze at last settling on the door which appeared to have remained locked throughout the night.

  From downstairs he thought he could hear the noise of people bustling about and he realized that it must have been Orana and perhaps Bodhan or Sandal. With a slight grimace he sat up, stretching limbs that had gone stiff through the night. Though the bed was soft his armor and anxiety had prevented him from resting easily. Plodding to the door he unlocked it and then let it swing open, peering out into the hallway.

  Hawke’s door stood open and downstairs, perhaps in the kitchen, he heard her voice say something. For a moment longer he listened, realizing that it was merely Hawke asking Orana to brew her another cup at tea.

  Slowly he let out a long breath and grimaced. Had he truly expected to overhear her concocting some evil plot? She was only a woman, and one that he had once…

  He hadn’t loved her. He knew that now. But the feeling had been close. 

  As casually as he could he made his way down the hallway and then descended the stairs, moving towards the noises of clanging pans and a kettle whistling. In the kitchen he saw Marian sitting at the table, a large mug in one hand, speaking to Orana. He had wanted to watch her for just a moment longer but Hawke was already turning her head to look at him, lips curled into the half-smirk he was so familiar with.

  “Good morning sleeping beauty,” she said, and it was so  _ like  _ her that the long months seemed to melt away. “Rest well I take it?”

  “Well enough,” he said, “Good morning, Hawke.” Briefly he turned his head to the blond elf at the kitchen sink, “Good morning, Orana.”

  She turned around and for just a moment he saw something in her eyes, something that she was very quick to hide. Perhaps Hawke never noticed such things, for all her faults she was not Hadriana after all, but Fenris noticed.

  “Serah,” she said, bowing a little. Fenris wondered if it was to hide any further expressions or out of true obesiance. “Please, may I get you some- Tea? Toast? Something to break your fast?”

  She kept her eyes lowered, shoulders bowed. Fenris did not let his eyes drift back to Hawke but he wondered at what little progress Orana had made as a servant to the other woman.

  But- How many behaviors did he find himself falling back into? And Orana seemed to have none of the anger that he had used to keep himself strong.

  “Tea would be welcome,” he said, gingerly sitting in one of the chairs across from Hawke and watching as the elf scurried to fill a cup. When she was done she moved back to the sink, hesitating there for a second, and then moved from the room to give the two privacy.

  Fenris reached out, picking up the mug and bringing it to his lips. Across from him Hawke stared at him, face unreadable.

  “I must congratulate you,” he finally said, lifting his mug to her. “Even while I was… Indisposed I was privy to some news.”

  Hawke was staring at him with a mixture of humor and confusion, though the smile on her face remained, “Congratulations for what? Finishing what Meredith failed to?”

  Fenris’ hand did not falter, his mug did not lower, but a curl of unease appeared in his gut. “I do not understand,” he said.

  “The Right of Annulment, of course. I’m sure you heard about that.”

  “Yes,” he said, having to pretend that his mind was not reeling, “Of course.” Isabela had said that there were survivors. It was why Anders had returned. There were supposed to be  _ survivors _ . “But… Do you really believe that you killed all of them? The- Mages?”

  “A few escaped the initial culling,” she said. As if they were livestock. As if they were not  _ people _ . “But we managed to round them up afterwards. It was difficult, but the Templars and other citizens of Kirkwall were highly motivated after what…  _ He  _ did.” Her face flashed in anger for a moment before smoothing out again. “I’m sorry you missed it, though. I know how you feel about mages.”

  Fenris wanted to scream. He wanted to take his mug and smash it on the floor, wanted to run away, and never return.

  He had wanted mages in Circles to protect both themselves and those around them. He had wanted them well trained and watched. He had wanted the opposite of the Tevinter Imperium- A world with protections for the weak, where helpless people would not be dragged into the streets and-

  He nearly choked, the horror of it all balling up inside of him. He thought of Merrill being surrounded by an angry mob and killed, Anders-

  “Of course,” he said instead, and took another sip of his tea. Without the sugar it was bitter but he barely tasted it. “I was weak, however. Still recovering.”

  “I’ve never known you to lay up in bed for so long, especially when there are mages to kill. What  _ happened  _ to you?”

  Magisters, slavers, he wanted to tell her. Those were the evil ones. Not some hapless Circle mage who had likely never heard of Anders, let alone had anything to do with him or the Mage Underground.

  There was a sudden knock at the door however and he was spared having to reply to Hawke. His stomach roiled from all that she had said, though he dared not show his distaste openly.

  Hawke had always sided with him when it came to mages but this was… Something else. Something new. Or, he thought to himself, perhaps he’d been willfully blind to it before. Perhaps he’d been so relieved that there was a person who seemed to understand the risk that mages posed, someone who would encourage his anger, rather than challenge it.

  Behind him he could hear Bodhan moving towards the door, his footfalls heavy. Hawke watched him, the question hanging in the air between them, but Fenris kept his gaze averted.

  “Is Hawke home? I need to speak with her.”

_ Varric _ . Fenris briefly perked up at the voice before remembering the last time that they had been together. His hand in Anders’ chest, and Varric's eyes boring into his back.

  Across from him Hawke sighed, before calling to Orana to fix up another mug of tea and a plate of breakfast. If she noticed Fenris’ discomfort she did not show it.

  “Morning Hawke, thought I’d stop by with the latest ne- Shit,  _ Broody _ ?” Varric stood in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the two as Fenris slowly turned around.

  “Varric,” he said, “It has been… Some time.” 

  “No shit,” the dwarf said, his eyes flashing in anger, “What-” But he seemed to smother it at the last moment, eyes briefly flicking to Hawke and then back to Fenris again. “Well. This is… A Surprise.”

  “A pleasant one,” Hawke said, “Of course.”

  “Of course,” Varric said, “Just… Surprising is all.”

  “I was injured,” Fenris said, though Varric did not look any more convinced than Hawke did. “I was laid up for some time.”

  “Right,” Varric said, still staring at him. Finally he shook his head and moved to the breakfast table, thanking Orana for the tea and beginning to dig into the plate she had set before him. “Anyway, Hawke, I was stopping by to let you know that that Seeker has been haunting the steps of the Keep again. Damned woman is as stubborn as a mabari with a bone.”

  “Cassandra Pentaghast, if I have her name correct,” Hawke said before shrugging. “Well, she can’t be any worse than Meredith.”

  “She’s here on orders from the Divine. That’s pretty serious Hawke.”

  “And? I killed the mages- All of them- Plus the corrupted templars. As far as I’m concerned I should be rewarded. And being Viscount of this city after all of that… Shit hasn’t been easy.”

  Fenris nearly choked on his tea, barely managing to keep a straight face. 

  “No, but you did associate with Blondie for the better part of ten years-” Varric raised both hands as a black look came over Hawke’s face. “Not that I’m blaming you for his actions- I don’t think even the Divine or this Seeker will- But you know… They have questions.”

  Hawke’s lip curled up in distaste. “Questions.”

  “Look, maybe just hold an audience with her? Aveline and I can be there at your back- And-” Varric slated a glance his way, “I suppose Broody here too.”

  Fenris was still having trouble swallowing the fact that Hawke was apparently Viscount. Did that mean that the rumors about her and Sebastian were false? Suddenly he felt sick- It would be so easy for him to slip up and then for the truth to come spilling out of him.

  The best thing would be to put as much distance between him and Hawke as possible. And yet he felt powerless to say no to her.

  “Of course,” Fenris said, trying not to let his words come out too woodenly, “You always have my support.”

  Hawke watched him, her eyes briefly softening before turning hard again. “And there’s not anything we can do to, you know, make her go away?” This question was directed at Varric though her gaze had remained on the elf.

  “She’s the Right Hand of Divine- Or some title like that. I’m no big believer in the Chantry but I don’t think this is a woman you can just make ‘go away.’ Even I don’t have the resources for that.”

  Hawke sighed, and then nodded. “You’re right. Well- I’ll send a messenger to her, tell her that I’ll hold an audience with her. I’m sure she can’t be that bad.”

  Varric took another bite of his breakfast without saying anything. Fenris sat there, feeling ill.

  “Any other interesting news?” Hawke asked, voice light, if a little tired sounding. Fenris felt himself tense slightly but just listened. If there was anyone who would know about Anders re-entering Kirkwall it would be Varric.

  “Not particularly. Aveline and Cullen have been butting heads again but that’s no surprise.”

  Hawke snorted, “Haven’t seen a more stubborn pair since Carver and Bethany.” Fenris didn’t understand why Cullen and Aveline would be working together but kept his questions to himself.

  The rest of breakfast passed with Hawke and Varric trading idle gossip. Little of it mattered to Fenris, though he listened intently for any hint that any of it might have to do with Anders. It was both comforting and surreal to sit next to them, as if things were back to normal. And yet there were far too many mentions of Templars being involved in things they shouldn’t have. Of the measures that Hawke had been forced to enact in order to keep control since becoming Viscount.

  When they finished Varric pushed himself back from the table and moved to his feet, Hawke following. Uneasily Fenris copied their movements. He felt lost, a piece of flotsam drifting at the mercies of the current, and all he knew to do was to follow.

  “Fenris, you’ll come with us to the Keep won’t you?” Hawke asked, though her expression indicated that it was not a question. “I can’t imagine you have much else to do.”

  He needed to get back to his mansion, but didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon. Feeling reigned, though he pretended otherwise, he said, “Of course, Hawke.” 

  “Good,” she smiled at him, and he watched her raise her arm as if to touch him before pulling back at the last second. Looking from him to Varric she said, “Give me a second, want to make sure I’m properly dressed before I have to sit and take complaints all day.”

  “You do that Hawke, we’ll be right here,” Varric said with a chuckle. It died away, however, as Hawke stepped out of the room. Both of the men stood in uneasy silence, the sound of Hawke stomping around upstairs as she changed.

  “So,” Varric said after a moment, “You survived.”

  “As indicated by my presence here,” Fenris replied, tone just a touch sardonic. 

  “Funny, I had people looking all over for you- Or your body at least. Hawke was pretty desperate to find you.”

  “Yes,” Fenris said, shifting a little, “Well, I am here, and- Well.”

  “So it seems.” Varric shot him a side-eyed glance but Fenris did not return it. For all his apparent good humor and lackadaisical attitude towards life Fenris knew that the man was sharp and he didn’t intend to give him any more ammunition.

  “Kirkwall’s big but it’s not that big. And my network of… Informants wasn’t wiped out by the fighting. Funny that they couldn’t locate you.”

  “Perhaps they are not as good as you thought they were.” What was taking Hawke so long? Fenris didn’t particularly want to see her but he suspected Varric would cease his questioning in her presence. 

  “Maybe, but unlikely.” He cocked his head to side, watching Fenris with those eyes that could sink an arrow into the chest of an enemy several hundred yards away, “I’m sure it’s quite a story, everything that happened.”

  “One that I do not care to have written down.” Fenris added just a bit of a sneer to his tone, which was usually enough to get Varric to drop the subject.

  Before, perhaps. But not now. So much had changed. They had not been close before but as Varric’s eyes narrowed he realized that they were no longer friends. 

  Hawke, in typical fashion, timed her entrance just as Varric opened his mouth to interrogate Fenris further, interrupting him.

  “Okay boys, let’s head out!” If she noticed the tension in the air she said nothing, her smile unwavering as she looked from Varric to Fenris and then back again.

  “After you Hawke,” Varric said, his face relaxed, a slight smirk at his lips. Next to him Fenris was a little more wooden but nodded and followed after Hawke and the rogue.

  It was the first time that Fenris had truly walked the streets of Kirkwall in broad daylight since returning and he did not like what he was seeing.

  It was more than the blackened crater that remained where the Chantry had once been, or the rubble which still lay strewn through parts of the city. It was more than the merchants, watching their party progress with wary, haunted eyes. The streets were not entirely silent, not with the amount of people out roaming about, but they were definitely quieter than Fenris had grown used to.

  And then, there were the Templars.

  They were… Everywhere. At corners and walking along the stone roads, taking up paths that seemed similar to the ones the city guard had once walked. He slid his eyes to Hawke, wanting desperately to ask about this but was afraid of giving himself away. Instead he look back out on the streets, observing and trying to make sense of what he seeing.

  Viscount’s Keep had experienced little damage in the fighting between Templars and Mages and it shone as it always had. The long doors were pulled open for the party by Templars which stood at them and saluted Hawke as she walked by.

  Choosing his words carefully he asked, “How fares Cullen?” He had no idea if the man was still alive but if so should he not have been leading the Templars? Why did they seem to be serving at Hawke’s pleasure instead?

  “Oh well enough,” Hawke said, raising her hand and smiling at the nobles they passed. They returned the gesture, though it seemed forced to Fenris’ eyes. “Obviously had some… Trouble with what happened. But he's remained loyal. That's the most important part-” she turned back to look at him, that small smile still on her face, “Loyalty.”

  “Of course, Hawke,” Fenris replied, suppressing a squirm of discomfort in his gut. They entered the main room and Hawke started heading towards the throne when someone stepped in their path.

  She was tall for a woman, with dark, cropped hair and intense eyes. Fenris counted several scars and then, as his eyes moved down, he saw the insignia on her armor.

  “Seeker Pentaghast!” Hawke was smiling at her, her tone pleasant enough. “You've finally decided to darken my doorstep.”

  “There were other doorsteps I attempted to darken first but was turned away,” she replied, a sour expression in her face.

  This seemed to affect Hawke little who said, “You wished for an audience with me, no? I am a very busy woman but of course I will make time for you.”

  The Seeker just stared at her for a moment before lifting her head. “There are serious questions I must ask you- Questions from the Divine herself.”

  “Well I am honored,” Hawke replied, giving a smile that was all teeth. “Please, allow me to take my throne and then you may ask your questions.”

  “So that all your nobles may watch us? No, this is to be done in private.”

  Hawke chuckled, “Please, Seeker, there is no reason for secrecy. My people know what happened after the explosion of the Chantry. And I am not going to be some despot, hiding in my offices and ruling from behind closed doors.”

  Cassandra narrowed her eyes, “You wish to make a spectacle of this and I will not allow it. You ignore the seriousness of our questions.”

  All of the pleasantness drained from Hawke's face as she stared at Cassandra.

  “You are not very politic, for a woman sent to represent the Divine,” her tone was soft but Fenris still heard the gasp of at least one other noble who had overheard her. “To say that I do not take your questions with the utmost seriousness is a great offense and my actions prove otherwise. I  _ immediately  _ ordered the execution of the man who destroyed the Chantry and killed the Grand Cleric. I saw the Right of Annulment through and put down the Knight Commander of Kirkwall after she went mad. And since then? I've done everything in my power to restore order to Kirkwall, working without cease to do so. So do not stand here and patronize me.” Her lip curled up slightly, a warning, “For I will not tolerate it.”

  Silence followed her declaration, all eyes in the room moving between her and the Seeker to see what would happen next.

  Cassandra raised her chin slightly in order to better stare down at Hawke before finally saying, “You ordered the execution of the apostate? But did not kill him yourself?”

  Hawke seemed caught off guard by the question but quickly recovered. “I was going to, but then my own Champion stepped forward and offered to do so.” She turned to Fenris, arm outstretched as if to display him, a small smile on her lips. “As loyal as any mabari, but a great deal stronger-”

  Fenris felt a buzzing begin to grow in his head, partly from the embarrassment of being put on display and partly from how familiar this all suddenly felt.

  Standing at Danarius’ arm, shown off to foreign dignitaries like a trained pet. 

  He watched Hawke, watch her eyes crinkle in pleasure and her lips move, watched her say those words that he had heard so many times before coming from Danarius’ mouth-

  “My little wolf.”

  He felt ill. He felt like screaming. But then the Seeker was reaching towards him and speaking to him.

  “...You have my gratitude then, for putting such a dangerous apostate down.”

  “It was necessary,” he responded, fighting through the haze in his mind. Thankfully the Seeker turned her attention back to Hawke and without saying anything he slipped away.

  He stumbled into the first alley that he found, the claws of his gauntlets digging into the brick of the wall as he struggled to keep himself upright. He could feel bile rising in the back of his throat but when he opened his mouth all he could do was dry heave for several long miserable moments.

  Finally he stopped, panting and leaning his head against the wall. Hawke had never been particularly sensitive and there were many details from his life under Danarius that he had refrained from telling her. But her words, unintentionally or not, had done something to him. He couldn't go back- He  _ couldn't _ .

  “Hey big guy,” he heard the soft movement of fabric and felt a hand on his back. Blearily he looked up to see Isabela, a look of concern on her face.

  “You need to leave,” he said, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to stand straight. “Hawke is not-” She was not the woman he had known, not the one he had remembered. “She will hurt you.”

  Isabela looked at him for a moment and then shook her head. “Not as much as she's messed you up,” she muttered, her tone not unkind.

  Fenris frowned but did not argue with her, not when there were more important things he had to tell her. “She is the Viscount and appears to have the Templars under her control. It is- Wrong, all of this is. She hunted down the last of the mages in Kirkwall and-”

  He trailed off, but didn't need to explain for Isabela to understand.

  “You need to come back with me,” She finally said, “We’ll keep you hidden until we can leave-”

  “ _ No. _ ” And then, again more quietly, “No.” He looked away from her, digging his gauntlet into the brick wall of the alley. “If she finds Anders, if she gets even a hint…”

  “And that’s exactly why we need you with us, searching for him,” she said, a heavy frown on her face. “I’m not leaving you in the talons of that fucking-” 

  “I can stop her, distract her-” He heaved a breath, just the thought making his chest feel tighter. “You and the others will search for him,” he continued, tone more decisive than he felt, “I will remain with Hawke, keep an eye on her.” 

  Isabela frowned fiercely at him but was prevented from arguing further by the sound of clanking armor and thudding boots. She looked up, tensing, and shook her head. “Fine, but anything starts to go south and you come back. Understood?”

  “I have nothing to fear from Hawke,” he said, though they both knew it was a lie. “Go, Isabela. And…” He frowned, looking away. “ _ Find  _ him. And protect Merrill too, for that matter.”

  Isabela said nothing. She was standing in the middle of an alley in a city she had vowed to never step foot in again, arguing with one of the most bullheaded men she had ever met. A man who hated mages, but who was risking himself to save two of them.

  Not for the first time she thought of how terrible love was. What it drove other people to do. But there would be no changing Fenris’ mind and so instead she nodded and, without another word, disappeared into the shadows of the alley. 

  “Fenris? Fenris where are you?” He was not given even a moment to collect his thoughts before he heard Hawke calling. Begrudgingly he turned around, moving back towards the mouth of the alley just as she stepped into it.

  “Maker,” she said, “Are you alright? You just rushed off all of a sudden-”

  “I am perfectly fine, Hawke,” he replied, his tone gruff. “You seemed busy with the Seeker and I thought to have a moment outside to myself.”

  Hawke frowned, “I’ve barely found you again and you’re already running off.” She looked away, shaking her head slightly. “Not that that seems to be a new thing, with you.”

  Fenris swallowed. Though he owed Hawke nothing he felt the old shame at the thought of leaving her creep through him.

  “I apologize, Hawke. I did not intend to… Hurt you.”

  “Oh, I’m perfectly fine. Just…” She looked back at him, her gaze full of meaning, “Disappointed.”

  Fenris was not sure what to say to that. A part of him understood that Hawke wanted him to beg forgiveness, to grovel, even. But he was not willing to, wasn’t even sure that he had done anything wrong.

  “Are you not needed inside the Keep again? I thought you planned to listened to petitions for most of the day.”

  Hawke shrugged, “That Seeker was my biggest concern and I’ve mollified her, for now anyway.”   

  “I see,” Fenris said.He did not want to return with Hawke but with Isabela gone he saw little choice. Lifting his head he continued, “I shall accompany you back inside.”

  “Excellent,” the look of displeasure on Hawke’s face melted away, replaced by a broad grin. “So many people will wish to meet the man who killed that apostate.”

  Fenris reminded himself that he had tolerated worse. And so he followed Hawke back inside the Keep, his head held high, his chest hollow.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I always post this in the notes but for real, I appreciate everyones comments and kudos. Your guys kind words always touch me and make me want to keep writing.
> 
> Shit gets kind of real in this chapter. I wasn't going to have Hawke be so harsh but a) I wanted Fenris to finally blow up and b) for the Angst™. We also will eventually get back to what Isabela and the rest of the cast of this sad story are doing in about two chapters.

For the next few days Fenris followed Hawke as she went about her daily business, most of which involved the running of Kirkwall. It was… Strange, surreal to see how the city he had lived almost his entire free life in had changed.

  The nobles were quieter than he remembered. Less argumentative, or perhaps more nervous. The halls of Viscount’s Keep held a hushed tone in them that he had not experienced before. The presence of the Templars was not to be discounted either. Fenris encountered them at every turn and though they pretended otherwise he could see the bitterness on the faces of the City Guard. It was obvious they had been replaced in large part by the Templars and Fenris could not help but wonder if Hawke fancied herself as both a Viscount and a Knight-Commander.

  It was ludicrous, nearly unbelievable except that he saw it all with his own eyes. There were no longer in mages in Kirkwall and so perhaps Hawke had decided to  _ give  _ them something to do. Fenris suspected that this was where Chantry authority should have stepped in but aside from the Seeker he saw very little sign of its influence on the city. Not unlike the way Kirkwall had been, for the past ten years.

  He worried for Aveline, whom he had not yet seen, though he was sure that Hawke would have told him had something happened to her. He worried for Isabela, for Anders and yes, even for Merrill. He could not say that he liked or approved of her, but she had been Anders’ friend when he was incapable of it.

  Almost unconsciously Fenris would take up the position to Hawke’s right, just behind her. Varric would often take her left, providing most of the conversation and humor. Fenris remained silent, trying not to think of how familiar it all felt. How it took him back to days spent sweating under the Tevinter sun or freezing under the cold gazes of Magisters. 

  On occasion Hawke would turn back to look at him, a small smile on her red lips and hunger in her eyes. Though he continued to sleep in her guest bedroom he had the sense that she would approach him soon about changing that. 

  He would deny her, of course, and not just because of Anders. There were things about Hawke that his eyes had been opened to, things that turned his stomach. Her  _ wolf _ , she called him, always with that little smirk, like she was telling a joke. He wondered if she realized that she was echoing Danarius. He feared she might. 

  Balancing on the edge of a knife was a position that Fenris had found himself in many times before and though it was uncomfortable, he would persevere. He repeated to himself, often, that Hawke was no danger. After all, she still liked to tease and joke with him. She still drank too much at the Hanged Man and groused about all of the nobles in Hightown. 

  But the jokes had become bitter and more often than not she chose to drink in her home rather than making the trip down to Lowtown. The nobles may have annoyed her but Fenris could see that the nobles were terrified of Hawke. They had had their city sacked once, their Chantry and then Circle destroyed. They survived, only to live under restrictive curfews, strict laws on expression, Templars watching their every moved. 

  A storm had swept through Kirkwall and Hawke, as always, was at the eye of it. For so long Fenris had assumed this was because she was the hero but as the weeks passed he was beginning to suspect that the very opposite might be true.

 

  One night they sat in her library, Hawke perusing through some trade agreements and Fenris fumbling with a book on Kirkwall history. She had tried to teach him, once, but had given up due to her limited patience. He had made great strides in the absence of another teacher but still struggled.

  That night it was not because of his skill but rather his thoughts. He tried to focus, but found himself re-reading the sentence in front of him several times.

  He had never asked Hawke about Anders’ accusations. Though she had said that she had finished the Right of Annulment he desperately wanted to believe that she had not killed any children or young apprentices.

  There were casualties in war, he knew this. But there was a difference between collateral damage and slaughtering innocents.

  “You have steam coming of your ears,” Hawke said without looking up and Fenris felt himself go still. Of course Hawke had been able to read him. They’d known each other for so long. Had seen each other at their best and their worst.

  “I have been… Thinking.”

  “Clearly,” she said with a snort. “Anything you care to share?”

  Fenris did not allow himself to fidget, but just barely.

  “Hawke… You said you completed the Right of Annulment.”

  She looked up at him finally, one eyebrow cocked and a questioning look on her face. “Yes, I believe I told you that.”

  “And that means the entire Circle, including the apprentices?”

  Slowly she put down her papers, her expression moving to something more serious. “Yes. The entire Circle.” 

  Fenris felt his heart sink. How young had that elvhen child in Rialto been? Ten? Eleven? Anders once told him that he had been just shy of thirteen when he had been taken to the Circle and that he had even been old for an apprentice. 

  “I see,” he said finally. 

  “I don't think I do,” Hawke replied, watching him with narrowed eyes. Her body was still, almost unnaturally so. Fenris was used to her constantly moving, a ball of energy, but now she focused all of that on him. 

  “The apprentices…” Fenris said, “Were many of them very young?” 

  “I don't know- I don't think it mattered?” She frowned, “I don't know what's gotten into you but they were just mages. What was it Cullen always said? That they weren't even really people?” 

  “Yes,” Fenris said, feeling like he had lead in his belly. “I remember him saying that. But… Hawke…” He knew he ought to say nothing, that he should let it go. But he just  _ couldn't _ . “Those were children.”

  Hawke stilled, her face flushing red, either from anger or shame.

  “They were  _ mages _ Fenris. Maker of all the people who might question me I wouldn't think of you. After all that mages have done to you-”

  “Mages are not the only ones capable of violence. And I could never condone the wholesale slaughter of them.  _ Especially  _ children.”

  “How amusing,” Hawke said, though her eyes were sharp and her face was tight, “Coming from the same man who once told me he killed the first people who tried to free him from his slavery.”

  Fenris felt as though he’d taken a stone fist to the gut. Terrible memories flooded his mind, the smell of blood and smoke in the air, the mutilated bodies of his friends at his feet and Danarius’ purring voice at his back.

  She raised her chin, a look of grim satisfaction on her face as his face paled and palms tightened into fists. “Do not throw stones in glass houses.”

  “I-” Fenris felt himself choke on his anger and his shame, “I  _ regret  _ that. Regret what Danarius made me do- I cannot begin to tell you what I would do to take that back, to undo what I did-” He stood suddenly, the book he was reading clattering to the floor and Hawke followed just as quickly.

  “But you can't,” Hawke said, voice devoid of pity. “And I would not take back what  _ I  _ did. Maker, can you not see that it was necessary?  _ What happened to you _ ?”

  It was the question that she had refused to ask aloud and that he had refused to answer. The one that had been between them all this time.

  “I am the same man I have always been,” he said, voice low and steady. “I do not  _ hate  _ mages, not without reason. All I ever wanted was for that power, so easily abused, to be kept under control.”

  He remembered, once, telling that to Anders. It was one of the few times that something he’d said seemed to have gotten across to the mage. As if something had clicked into place.

  “Bullshit,” Hawke said, “You always supported me-”

  “Against abominations and blood mages. Not- Not children.”

  “Not all abominations,” she said with a snort, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know, I think I could take you more seriously if you hadn't forgotten your ideals in favor of fucking  _ him _ .”

  Fenris felt his vision narrow, felt rage in his chest. If Hawke appreciated how offensive her words were she didn't act like it, instead continuing to speak.

  “Do you know how much it disgusted me, seeing you with him? You ran from one master only to run straight into the arms of another. A slave’s way of thinking, I guess.”

  There was a moment of tense silence, like a violin string being stretched near to the breaking point.

  And then, it snapped.

  “How  _ dare  _ you!?” He yelled, taking a step forward, his lips curled back in a snarl. “You know  _ nothing. Nothing  _ about me. I have been free for over a decade now. Ten years.  _ Ten years _ . I am a free man and Anders would never- Never treat me the way that Danarius did.” He took a deep breath, almost shaking in his rage. 

  “He is  _ nothing _ like the magisters of Tevinter.” It was spoken quietly, but with such fierce determination that his words seemed to echo throughout the room.

  And then Fenris turned on his heel, striding out the door and leaving Hawke alone in her library.

  She stood there for some time, processing what had just happened. Distantly she heard the front door slam and knew that it was Fenris leaving. She supposed that she ought to be worried but the elf had always had a temper and besides, she knew that he needed the truth more than some flowery, comforting words. 

  But there was something else about the conversation, something that bothered her the longer that she thought about it.

  Fenris had used the present tense to refer to Anders.

 

  He did not know where he was going, knowing only that he needed to leave. His hands curled into fists as he marched angrily away from the Amell estate, fury rushing through his veins like a potent drug and making him feel both light headed and nauseous. 

  To think that he had tolerated such a hateful woman for so long. 

  To think that Anders had been right.

  His stomach felt sick with the revelation of what she had done, of what she had so unabashedly admitted to. He could not stop thinking of the small boy in Rialto, of the look of terror in his eyes. How many had Hawke cut down just like him?

  His feet took him lower and lower into the city, through twisting passages and narrow alleyways littered with refuse. His mind continued to spin, unrelenting in the images it produced.

  He barely noticed getting into the lift that slowly lowered him into Darktown. It was foolish, of course. He knew that Anders would not be in his clinic, and yet still he walked to it, ignoring the curious stares of the people around him. Where else would he go? Back to the mansion so that Hawke could follow him and hurt his friends?

  To the Hanged Man, where Varric would likely ask the same questions Hawke had? Or perhaps to Viscount’s Keep, where so many of the Templars loyal to Hawke remained.

  No, this was where he would go. 

  It was unsurprising to see that the clinic had been destroyed, the lamp that he had passed under so many times now a crumpled heap of metal. Carefully he stepped around the glass and entered the hovel, grimacing when he saw the havoc that been wreaked on the rest of the clinic.

  It was easy to imagine the Templars coming here afterwards, forced to take out their anger on beds and desks in lieu of Anders. The most holy site in the city had been destroyed and whatever the reasoning there was no getting around that.

  Fenris himself still felt that anger, though it had always been more personal. What Anders had done had destroyed any chance of their having a life together. Had hammered a wedge between them that Fenris still felt like a physical thing.

  He had cared more for his cause than for Fenris or his own personal safety. And that was a hurt that went deep into the darkest recesses of his person.

  “Foolish,” he muttered to himself as he slowly walked through the ruin of the clinic. He could be as mad at Anders as he wished but he was the one who had left him to be with Hawke. He was the one who had been so angry, so unforgiving after Kirkwall.

  Neither of them were innocent. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he could not escape the truth of it. 

  And then, at the back of the clinic, he heard the sound of someone moving.

 

  Anders had known that coming back to Kirkwall would not be easy. He thought that he had been prepared for all that he had left behind but there had been no predicting all that had happened since he had destroyed the Chantry.

  He knew they would call him a monster, a murderer. Already he had heard the whispers in Rialto. It the was the label of terrorist, however, that made him so angry that he saw red. Or blue, as was the case.

  It had never been about inspiring hate or fear, though he had accepted these as inevitabilities. In those last months before the explosion he had felt like a wild animal, trapped, with no recourse but to bite. It had never been about anything, save survival. 

  Of course no one else saw it that way. He knew he should not have been surprised but every time he ventured out into the streets and heard a whispered “The Terrorist Apostate” he felt his blood boil. Not arguing took every ounce of his willpower but he resisted. Better to swallow his anger than expose himself, as would surely happen. 

  He had also spent his days (or nights- it was hard to tell in Darktown) trying to find all that remained of the Mage Underground in Kirkwall. So far he had had no luck and although he told himself that most had probably escaped in the aftermath he had a feeling that he knew what the truth was.

  A feeling like soothing flowed through him and he sighed, sitting back in his chair. It was so easy to grow upset here, the long, terrible struggle he had undergone in this city coloring everything. But instead of feeding off of his anger or frustration Justice had begun to counteract it.

  He had changed. Something, Anders did not know what, had morphed him.

  Once, he had been a spirit of Justice and then Anders had twisted him into Vengeance with his anger. But the months away from Kirkwall had done something else to him. Healing, perhaps, although even the original Justice would not have comforted him the way the spirit now did.

  It wasn't disturbing, exactly, but it was definitely strange. 

  Still Anders crooked a little smile, tired though it was. “Thank you,” he murmured, sighing and rubbing his forehead. Before him lay several documents which he had hoped would help him find the remaining mages. As it was they had proven all but useless.

  Though he did not want to he turned over another sheet of paper and sighed. It seemed like it would be of little use but he had to keep trying. He couldn't just give up-

  And then, from beyond the door of his little bolthole, Anders heard the sound of someone treading through the clinic. He froze and listened, ears primed for any hint of who it might be. Though it was more likely a beggar than a Templar he knew he could not be too careful. 

  And then he heard it, the scrape of metal against metal as if from a gauntlet. He felt himself grow cold and then very warm as he realized it must be a Templar. Slowly he stood though his hands trembled in anger. Did they suspect that he had returned to his clinic, inexplicably back from the dead? Or were they just there to do more damage? To destroy more of his things?

  He was going to kill them either way.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer, and kind of rough. Also NSFW towards the end. 
> 
> Songs for this chapter are:  
> "You Cannot Call for Love Like a Dog," by Holy Holy  
> "Mother of Maladies" by Marrow  
> "Red Bone," by Childish Gambino  
> "Past Lives" by Local Natives

  As he rose from the desk he felt Justice stir within him. This time there was no soothing but instead a surge of anger bolstered by Justice’s sense of outrage. As stealthily as he could he opened the bolthole door and slipped into the back of his clinic.

  He could not see the person from the other side of the cloth dividers that had once been the walls of his room and he strained to hear if there was more than just the one. He could only hear the sound of one set of footsteps pattering around and although they sounded remarkably light for a Templar his and Justice’s anger was making it difficult to think straight.

  The footsteps suddenly stopped, abruptly turning in his direction. Anders’ breath caught in his throat as he realized that the other person now knew he was there. And then he heard it: the unmistakable scrape of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. 

  His hands tightened on the leather grip of his staff as power began to gather at the tip of it. If this was a Templar he might have only one chance to hit him and disable him before being smited. 

  The tension in the air grew, so thick he thought he might choke on it. The footsteps drew closer and closer, slow and steady but with determination. He felt like a mouse cornered by a cat and yet he was not without his defenses. 

  He had killed scores of Templars before. This would simply be one more on the list. 

  He took a deep breath and then stepped out from behind the curtain, ready to attack.   
  


  Just as Anders raised his staff to rain down hellfire on his enemy Fenris surged forward, his body alight with lyrium and murderous intent. Steel flashed as lightning crackled and sparked and for one terrible moment the two men met in the middle of the clinic. 

  And then, just as suddenly, they both pulled back. 

  Anders jerked his staff back at the last possibly moment, his spell grazing Fenris but causing no serious injury. Fenris brought his greatsword down low, burying it in the dirt floor of the clinic just inches from Anders’ foot.

  Both men stared at each other wide-eyed and for several long moments the only noise in the clinic was the sound of both of them panting. 

  Fenris had hoped against hope that Anders would not return to Kirkwall, that he would see him again. But although a part of him felt relief that the mage was alive another, larger part of him was terrified of what Anders would do now that they stood face to face again.

  Would he leave him again? Spit in his face? He was the one who had decided to board that ship, to leave Fenris behind. Doubt and insecurity rose in him so fast he felt his head spin but all he could do was stand there and stare at Anders silently. 

  Anders, for his part, was having trouble believing that the man in front of him was even real. He had left him behind in Rialto, so confident that he would finally give up on the mage. 

  And then he realized that if Fenris had tracked him down, it was all too possible that Hawke would as well.

  “What- What are you doing here?” Anders was the first to shout, uncaring that his clinic was supposed to have been abandoned. As it stood, the Darktowners had become used to the sounds of screaming emanating from the clinic and paid it little mind.

  “Me? What are  _ you  _ doing here? Do you have any idea the danger you place yourself in?” Fenris stepped forward, gauntleted hands curling into fists so that Anders could not see how they shook in fear. “If Hawke finds you she will drag you into the street and kill you. You  _ fool _ .” Fenris couldn't let it happen, knew that seeing it would break him. 

  “At least I’d die a free man. I don’t even want to think about what Hawke would do if she saw you again.” 

  Fenris opened his mouth to argue again only to stop, face paling slightly. Anders paused in his ranting, as he realized what that meant.

  “You… You didn’t go to Hawke did you? Maker, tell me you have more sense than that.”

  “I did not  _ go  _ to Hawke,” Fenris said, looking away, “But she did… Find me.”

  “No,” Anders said, shaking his head, “No, no- Shit.” He tossed his staff to the ground and threw his arms up before beginning to pace. “Maker this is bad. You  _ weren’t supposed to follow me _ . I just needed to come to Kirkwall to rescue the remaining mages and then leave without Hawke finding me. And now… And now you’ve found me and Hawke knows you’re here and she probably...”

  Fenris watched him for a moment as he began to work himself into a frenzy before finally interrupting him.

  “How could you expect me not to follow you?” 

  Though his voice was quiet it seemed to stop Anders dead in his tracks and slowly the mage turned to look at him.

  He said nothing, and so Fenris spoke again. “How could you expect me not to follow you? You… I thought that we…” He raised his arms, a fruitless gesture, before letting them fall again. “I could not let you go.”

  “Oh right,” Anders said, voice bitter, “Because I’m the big bad mage that needs to be controlled.”

  Fenris’ head snapped up at that, “You are purposefully misunderstanding me. What I meant was that I- That I-” His voice grew hoarse, his hands curling and uncurling. “I only… I thought that we had healed a little. Gone back to what we had. And then you  _ left  _ me.”

  Anders opened his mouth as if to argue before turning his face away, the shame on it obvious. He remembered that night in Rialto all too well, the way their bodies had moved together as if they had never parted. As if they belonged together. 

  “I am sorry,” he said, “But that was a drunken mistake.”

  “No,” Fenris said, and Anders forced himself to look up at the pain written across his face. “No, it was not.”

  “Perhaps not to you,” Anders said quietly, “But to me it was.”

  “No-” Fenris said, shaking his head, “You ran because- Because that is what you always do. But we…” He stopped, his argument appearing to die in his throat. He hung his head a little and then in a voice so quiet Anders had trouble even hearing it he said, “I forgave you. I decided that I would follow you, no matter your convictions. I knew it wasn’t everything you wanted but I thought… I thought it might be enough.

  “I made a mistake, coming here.”

  He thought back to the night he had discovered the cellar pathway from Hawke’s estate to Anders’ clinic. He had been running from her then, too. 

  Anders sighed again and shook his head before saying, not unkindly: “You did. But before you go running off again I need to determine what exactly you’ve told Hawke. I’m not ready to leave Kirkwall yet but if it means staying free then I’ll do it.”

  He turned around, beginning to walk back to the bolthole, but didn’t hear Fenris moving behind him. Frowning he turned back to see the elf standing there, looking for all the world like a puppy that had been kicked.

  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll brew us some tea and then send you on your way.” His words seemed to only make Fenris more miserable but finally the man followed after him. 

  The bolthole had seemed small to Anders but with both men inside it was downright cramped. Fenris stood at the door to it with a wary expression on his face before finally slinking inside and seating himself on one side of Anders’ cot.

  “It’s not the Blooming Rose,” Anders said as he began to get things together for tea, “But it’s a bed, and not a prison one either.”

  Fenris did not respond, only watching Anders and feeling his heart contract painfully. 

  “I’m also sorry I don’t have any sugar. I know you always had a sweet tooth.” 

  “I appreciate the tea,” he said, voice a little raw sounding. “Sweetened or not.”

  Anders nodded but did not say anything else until the kettle began to whistle and he poured out two steaming cups, one in a chipped mug and the other in a tin cup.

  Sighing he sat back on an overturned crate, taking a sip and appearing to collect himself for a moment.

  “Fenris,” he said, “I want you to know that I’m not mad at you anymore. Not… Not for what I was, that is.”

  The elf frowned, one eyebrow raised. “I do not… Quite understand your meaning.”

  Anders shifted, appearing to argue internally before finally he said, “You didn’t kill Justice. He’s still a part of me.”

 To his credit Fenris did not drop his mug but when he did raise it to his lips he took a much larger swallow than was normal.

  “I understand this less and less,” he finally said. “I thought… You told me that I had killed Justice. You said that I-”

  It was Anders’ turn to look uncomfortable now. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I said a lot of awful things to you. I thought that you had killed my best friend. As it turns out Merrill was right- He was asleep this whole time.”

  “I must be in the Fade,” Fenris muttered, “For you to say that Merrill is right about anything.”

  Anders’ cocked an eyebrow at him, “I’ve actually grown fond of her, you know.”

  “Yes I know,” Fenris muttered, “She was… Is a good friend to you.” He shifted a little and then asked, “So… Justice has- Reawoken?”

  “Yes,” Anders said, searching Fenris’ eyes for any hint of emotion.

  “I cannot say that I am wholly relieved.” He finally said, appearing to take care with his words, “My point about him driving you relentlessly still stands. But I am… I am glad you have your friend back. I know it hurt you deeply when you thought that I had killed him.”

  “Maker,” he said, “Now it’s my turn to wonder if you’re a figure from the Fade and the real Fenris is still stuck with Hawke.”

  Something flashed across Fenris’ face, something that he was quick to bury.

   Anders felt unease curl in his gut. “You said that Hawke… Found you. Did she… I mean- I’m sure she did not really…”

  “Hawke is convinced that you are dead,” Fenris said, trying not to think of his time spent with Hawke, all the things she had said. “I told her that I was severely wounded in the fighting after the Chantry explosion and although I do not think she believes my story entirely she has no hint that you might still be alive. She saw me kill you- Or appear to kill you.”

  It was everything that Anders wanted to hear, but still he was not happy.

  “Fenris,” he said, leaning forward slightly to touch him before reconsidering at the last moment. “What happened with Hawke?”

  “Nothing of note,” Fenris said, only to smile bitterly. “No- That is not quite correct. Your accusations about Hawke were proven correct.”

  “What accusations, exactly?”

  Fenris looked up at him, shaking his head slowly. “She killed them. She killed them  _ all _ .”

  Anders felt his stomach drop out from beneath him at Fenris’ words. 

  “The ones who fought back but also- Also the young ones. The apprentices. You said that the Right of Annulment would include children but I was so certain she would spare them. She slaughtered them. And then acted as if I were mad for being horrified by it.”

  “But…” Anders said, “But there must be some still alive. Isabela said… Her information was that… There were some survivors.”

  “Perhaps, but Hawke…” Fenris fidgeted slightly, “I am sure that you are aware she is the Viscount now. She has taken complete control of the city and charged the Templars with keeping order. They appear to serve at her pleasure now.”

  “Andraste’s Tits,” Anders said after a long silence before slowly raising his face to look at Fenris. “She has to be stopped, I have to-”

  “No,” Fenris shook his head, “Please, Anders, you cannot-” 

  But the mage was already rising and Fenris felt panic bubbling in his chest. All he could think of were the mages that Hawke had publicly executed, of all of the terrible things that would be done to Anders. He stood and without thought grasped his arm to stop him from leaving.

  And then he thought of Merrill, of all of the times that she had comforted Anders. Of her placing a hand on his shoulder and encouraging him to eat dinner.

  He was not a man to be won with rage or threats. It had always been so simple, but Fenris had been too blinded by his own anger to realize it.

  “Anders,” he said, his voice soft and his touch gentle, “Please do not leave me.”

  The mage stopped, looking at him warily. “I have to stop her,” he said, voice quiet. “Those are my people that she has hurt. People that I- That I failed. If I had stayed and managed to stop Hawke…”

  “You are not responsible for them, not then and not now. Please,” He turned his face up to Anders, his expression as earnest as he could make it, “Please stay, just for now. Do not go charging after her.”

  Something blue flashed in Anders’ eyes and Fenris had to suppress a shiver of disquiet. Still he held on, afraid that Anders, or perhaps Justice, would not be swayed by his words.

  But the man’s shoulders finally slumped and instead of running he moved to sit down on the cot next to Fenris, holding his head in his hands. 

  “I am sorry Anders,” he finally said into the silence of the tiny bolthole.

  “I tried to save them,” he whispered, “It was why I did it. All of that for… For nothing. Maker I- I am a monster.” He let out a harsh noise. “I destroyed the Chantry and started a war and-”

  His voice cracked on a sob and as he curled in on himself Fenris wrapped an arm around him. He had never been particularly good at comforting other people but for Anders he would try. 

  “You did what you thought you had to do. Meredith would have slaughtered the mages either way. You gave them a fighting chance.” And although he was merely saying it to make Anders feel better Fenris began, slowly, to understand why Anders had done what he had done. 

  “And Hawke finished the job,” Anders replied, voice bitter.

  “She did. But without you they would have been as lambs. And the other Circles would have remained unchanged. Now they too see the dangers in remaining complacent-” He stopped, realizing that Anders was staring at him with wide eyes. A bit chagrined he muttered, “I… I may not agree, but I see the logic.”

  Anders just continued to stare at him for a moment before slowly looking away. 

  “Fenris,” he said, “I can’t do this.”

  For one bright moment Fenris thought that Anders meant his fight for mage rights, his ceaseless quest for justice. He felt his heart fill with hope that there might be a future for them, that perhaps-

  He looked back up at the elf, eyes red-rimmed and said: “I can’t… Ask this of you. Or be with you. No matter how you’ve changed or how I’ve changed- I have bigger things to worry about, greater responsibilities-”

  Fenris’ felt all of his hope crash, like a burning house finally collapsing under the weight of its destruction. Externally he remained calm, however.

  “I… Of course, Anders.” He swallowed, looking away. “I will ask you for nothing, only… If I can stay here for a little while. I am not ready to return to the streets of Kirkwall.” 

  “Yes, yes, of course,” if he was quick to let Fenris stay neither remarked on it. After all, their time together was so precious, and neither wished to waste it.

  
  


  They eventually moved back to lay on the bed, side to side with both men staring up at the ceiling. It was almost too narrow and they were forced to lie with their shoulders and hips touching but neither complained. 

  For a long time they were quiet until finally, in typical fashion, Anders broke the silence. He told Fenris one of the few stories he remembered of his childhood, about losing his father’s prized sow. It was a raucous story that even had Fenris laughing a little and in return he told Anders about one of his nights spent escaping slavers.

  And then Anders had another story, one that inevitably reminded Fenris of a joke. And then it was as if they were back in Fenris’ mansion after Diamondback night, safely under the covers of Fenris’ bed, the rest of the world far away.

  “...And then they put me in solitary. Guess I escaped just one too many times.” Anders quirked up a little smile, though it was humorless. “A whole year in that dark, stinking place. But, at least I had Mr. Wiggums. He even killed some Templars for me.”

 Beside him Fenris absorbed that information, choosing his words with care. “A year. That seems… Excessive.”

  “Heh, try telling that to that old fuddy-duddy Greagoir. Told me it was a mercy.”

  “A mercy,” Fenris said, fighting to keep his voice neutral. He felt rage burning in him but knew that Anders needed his comfort more than his anger.

  “Well, they didn’t make me tranquil so I suppose in some ways it was.” Whatever humor remained disappeared as Anders very quietly said, “I would rather die, than be tranquil.”

  “I would rather die than be enslaved again,” Fenris said. After a moment of silence he continued, “I… I do not like the dark either. Sometimes Danarius would…” He trailed off but Anders did not prompt him, only laid next to him and waited for him to be ready. 

  “As I healed from my brands they kept me in a dark room. They did not want to expose me to too much at once- I was the first that had ever survived that far in the ritual and it would be… It would have been a great waste, to lose me. Other slaves would come on occasion to check on me, to try and give me broth that had a sort of pain killer in it. I remember waiting for hours for that thin shaft of light as the door opened, knowing that numbness was close at hand.

  “The long dark hours were… Difficult. The painkiller never lasted long enough and everything hurt. I did not remember who I was or why I was in so much pain. I tried, once, activating my markings before they were explained to me and…” He paused, appearing to skip over something mentally, “And then I did not do so again.”

  “Maker Fenris, that’s awful.” Anders had turned slightly to him, eyes wide.

  “He discovered that I feared that room, and that darkness. When he wished to punish me he would often send me there. I would emerge days after, obedient as ever, and not a mark on the body he so coveted.”

  It occurred to Anders suddenly that in all the time they had spent in Fenris’ mansion that the man had never once let the fire in the fireplace die out. Most would have banked the coals when sleeping, needing all the warmth but not the light, but not Fenris. He hadn’t thought much of it, all too glad to not have to sleep in the dark, but he realized with a sudden, painful clarity why he had done so.

  “I am glad,” Anders said after managing to get his emotions under control again, “That he is dead. I only wish… I only wish I had helped end him myself. I am sorry that I was not there when you needed me” 

  “What is done is done,” Fenris said after some time. He had not realized, until just then, that he had needed to hear the words. “But, thank you Anders.”

  Somehow in the telling of his story he had turned to face the other man and for a moment he studied his features.

  “Varric once told me that we were two sides of the same coin. I think… That he was more correct than either of us wished to admit.”

  Anders looked at him for a moment and then snorted before turning his face away. “Yeah. Can’t say he’s wrong.”

  There was quiet between them again until, finally, Fenris said: “I do not think I mind, so much anymore.”

  Slowly the two men turned back to look at each other, Anders’ eyes wide and Fenris’ sad. They stared, taking each other in as they had never taken the chance to do so before, cataloging old scars and wrinkles, freckles and all of the shades of green that could make up one eye color. 

  And then, slowly, they moved towards one another. Their lips met and though both knew it was foolish neither could bring themselves to pull away. They kissed and then moved closer, until they were pressed against each other on the small bed. Anders wedged his knee between Fenris’ legs and the other man gripped his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

  It was unlike the last time. It was unlike any of the other times before it. Where they had always been so quick before now they both moved slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. As if they knew it would be their last. 

  They seemed to kiss for hours, taking the time to explore each other’s mouths fully. Several times Fenris strayed to mouth at the mage’s throat and Anders would kiss behind his ear the way he liked, only for each of them to return to kissing. Carefully they stripped each other of armor and robe, hands roaming over skin as it became available, until finally they lay body to body with nothing between them. 

  The small room had quickly become overheated but they just moved closer together, desperate to touch each other. Fenris groaned as Anders moved down to run his tongue over one nipple, tweaking the other one before moving back up again. The elf gripped his back, rubbing against him and gasping at the friction he found there. 

  “I… Need…” he panted as Anders kissed and then bit his shoulder, reddening the skin there. “Anders,” he said, his mouth pressed against his ear, “Fuck me.”

  Above him the mage stopped moving, his mouth still pressed against his bicep where he had been making a trail down his arm. He wanted to taste him everywhere, to take his time as he had not before. He knew that he would be gone in the morning but it felt important. His last chance.

  “As you wish,” he finally said before pressing another, achingly gentle kiss against his shoulder.

  Anders rose up a little, looking down at Fenris and taking a moment to watch him. The room was dim but Fenris’ lyrium still glowed softly, subtly highlighting the shapes and contours of his body. He wanted to tell him that he was beautiful. He wanted to say that he was sorry. 

  But instead what Anders did was to lean down and kiss Fenris again before slowly mouthing down his neck and then across his chest. Beneath him Fenris made a noise of impatience and Anders chuckled before kissing the side of his hip. 

  He kissed up the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch beneath him, before slowly sucking the head into his mouth. Fenris groaned lowly and Anders almost smiled when he saw him fist the thin blanket that lay beneath them. He… Had missed this, more than he would admit. He had missed being with Fenris, missed the simple comfort of his body. They had known each other for so long and to come together again was both exciting and achingly familiar. 

  Nor were there any illusions- This was not the desperation that they had experienced in Rialto but instead acceptance. A long, tender farewell to what they had once had. 

  Fenris groaned again as he felt Anders press one well lubricated finger against his hole, slowly moving inwards. Between the movement of his hands and the mage’s mouth Fenris was achingly hard, but it still wasn’t entirely what he wanted. Even the addition of a second finger, and then another one, was not enough for him.

  “Now,” he rasped, opening his eyes in order to look at Anders, “Please, I want…”

  Slowly Anders withdrew his fingers and gave one last, almost chaste, kiss to the head of Fenris’ cock. On the bed before him Fenris lay breathing heavily, watching Anders closely. His eyes trailed down from his face, pale skin flushed red as it always did, down the lean planes of his chest. Anders held his cock in his hand and Fenris swallowed heavily, knowing that in seconds it would be inside him, filling him.

  They did not break eye contact, even as Anders moved between Fenris’ thighs and the elf spread his legs farther apart. Even as he pressed the head of his cock against his hole and slowly entered him. 

  When he was fully seated inside of him Anders finally took the chance to close his eyes, savoring the feeling before beginning to move.

  They both groaned and Fenris wrapped his legs around Anders’ waist just as the other man grasped his hips, allowing him to thrust deeper and slower. It was rare that they had done this but Anders had not forgotten how to move, how to angle his hips to bring more pleasure to his partner.

  But though every thrust made his toes curl in pleasure it wasn’t what Fenris, or Anders, was entirely after. The next time that Anders thrust forward Fenris reached up, wrapping his arms around the mage and pulling him down so that their bodies were almost completely touching. He buried his face in the other man’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, and when Anders thrust again he groaned at the sensation

  It was the carnal feeling of having a cock inside of him, stretching him open deliciously. Of his own cock trapped between their bodies. But it was also the intoxicating feeling of being pressed into the cot by the weight of the man above him, of feeling every inch of his skin against him. The warmth, the feeling of closeness and of comfort.

  Every so often they would kiss, long, passionate and drawn out. Anders would slow his movements, barely rolling his hips, and Fenris would clutch him tighter. It seemed to go on like that for hours and yet not long enough. Both wanted to remain there forever, clinging to each other in that small room, the chaos of the world outside so very far away.

  It was everything that Fenris had ever wanted and, without knowing, needed in a partner. This tenderness that life had so rarely shown him. And Anders realized how foolish he had been, waiting so long to stop having sex and start making love to the man underneath him. 

  Physically it felt incredible. But inside his chest something swelled, something that he could no longer contain. He kissed Fenris, suddenly desperate as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming emotions, and he began to pick up pace again. He didn’t want it to end, but he knew that it would anyway. His lips moved to Fenris’ ear, nose buried in the soft hair there as he whined and then groaned his pleasure. He didn’t know why he had ever held back from this man, what he had been so afraid of.

  “Fenris,” he gasped, not even trying to stop himself. His hips snapped forward urgently, even as he pressed himself as much against Fenris as he could. He needed this man, wanted to consume him, wanted to be consumed  _ by _ him. And then he spoke: “I love you.”

  Fenris’ eyes snapped open and from his mouth ripped a yell of- Anguish, or pleasure, or perhaps both. Between them Anders felt his cock harden suddenly and then closed his eyes as Fenris came. It was easy to give in, only a few seconds of mindless thrusting before Anders felt his orgasm consume him.

  In the aftermath they lay together panting. Though it was now almost unbearably warm inside the little bolthole Fenris was clinging to Anders like he might disappear if he let go. He supposed he deserved it, given their past history.

  Finally, however, the elf lowered his arms and then his legs, allowing Anders to remove himself and then settle onto his back. Beside him Fenris seemed languid, relaxed. He appeared to be fighting at sleep and losing the battle. Anders was exhausted but he couldn’t imagine how Fenris felt, having had to deal with Hawke. 

  “Anders,” he said, voice even deeper than normal. “You… You said…” Slowly he turned onto his side to face the other man. His eyes bored into Anders and the mage found that he could not look away.

  “I did,” he said, “I meant it.”

  Several emotions flashed across Fenris’ face in quick succession until finally the elf, voice rough, said, “I realized in Rialto what it was that you meant to me. I wish that I had realized it sooner.” He sighed quietly, closing his eyes. They both knew that it was too little too late but still Anders reached out to grasp Fenris’ hand. “I love you,” he opened his eyes again as he said it, gaze earnest, if sad. “I do.”

  Slowly Anders moved and pressed against him, uncaring of the mess between their bodies. He raised his hand to cup Fenris’ cheek, resting his forehead against the other man’s.

  “Rest,” he said, “You can stay the night with me.”

  “Good. I do not believe myself capable of movement,” Fenris replied and the two laughed softly together.

  They remained like that for a long time, listening to the sounds of each other breathing. Fenris was the first to fall asleep though he tried not to and Anders followed him shortly afterwards. Between them their hands remained, loosely linked, but entwined nonetheless.

 

  When Fenris awoke the next morning he was unsurprised to find himself alone. He had known that that night would be his last with Anders and although his heart ached he simply closed his eyes in acceptance. He did not have it in him anymore to cry or shout or rage. He had fought so hard up until this point, and now he simply felt drained.

  Still, the world outside of the bolthole would not go away and so finally Fenris forced himself to awaken fully, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the cot. 

  The first thing he noticed was that a fire had been kept lit in a brazier in the corner, allowing the room to stay lit. His heart twisted for a moment, realizing that Anders must have done it intentionally. Otherwise the room would have been plunged into complete darkness. It was then that he saw, despite the obvious absence of the mage, he had left something behind.

  It was a single piece of paper, sitting on the desk. Fenris supposed that it was from Anders, to him, and warily stood up in order to approach it. Carefully he picked it up, not wanting to crinkle or injure the sides of the paper, and let his eyes scan the words scrawled there. His reading was still poor, but he would make it through the letter if it took him all day.

 

_ Fenris, _

 

  His name. Of course. And yet seeing it written in Anders hand did something to him. Slowly Fenris sat back on the cot, eyes moving further down the page.

 

_ I am sorry for what I’ve done, and for what I am about to do. But then, I suppose that running away is a habit I never quite managed to kick. _

_   I’ve loved you for a long time. Long before last night, long before we ever started this… Thing between us. Even in Rialto I wasn’t able to forget it entirely. And once I realized that Justice was still alive, that I’d been wrong about you, well, I couldn’t hate you anymore.  _

_   But this was never meant to last, and it’s gone on longer than it ever had a right to. I love you, but there is a higher cause that calls me. Justice must be handed down, for me, for the mages, for all of the people that Hawke has hurt. For all of the other oppressed people in Thedas.  _

_   I know it’s no use telling you to do anything, but I hope you’ll leave Kirkwall. This place is no good- The very air here is corrupted and it’s no wonder we ran into all of the weird things we did. I hope you’ll leave it for someplace beautiful. Maybe a little house by the ocean, where the sun shines all the time and the air feels clean. I know you hate fish, but I think it’d be worth it. _

_   I hope you’ll leave and that you’ll find someone beautiful to spend your life with. I wish I could be that person, but I don’t have it in me anymore. I lost that person a long time ago to my cause but that doesn’t mean you have to alone. After all that life has put you through you deserve to be happy, Fenris. I want you to find someone that will make you happy. _

__

_ Please, take care of yourself. _

_ Anders _

 

  Very slowly and deliberately Fenris set the letter down and then stared ahead, his gaze blank as he digested what he had just read. He had known last night that they were saying goodbye to each other but his chest still ached fiercely. Anders was urging him to move on, but the idea of doing that was ludicrous to Fenris.

  And yet, what else could he do? There was no happy ending for them. He had known this deep in his heart, but had refused to accept the truth of it.

 He rose finally, washing himself off and then dressing. He fastened his armor on and then strapped his blade to his back, comforted by the familiar weight there. The letter sat on the cot and, carefully, he folded it up and then slipped it inside his tunic. Behind him the brazier continued to burn brightly but Fenris let it be. Some other poor soul might find this little hovel and would likely appreciate the light.

  He prepared to leave but there, by the door to the little bolthole, he saw that Anders had left behind a second gift for him.

  It was the moon mask. 

  Fenris stopped very suddenly, staring at it with wide eyes. Slowly he moved to pick it up, cradling the delicate porcelain in his hand.

  In Rialto he had taken the sun mask that Anders had left behind, a small reminder of the man that he loved. He hadn’t paid any attention to his own mask, uncaring, and had never realized that Anders had taken it.

  Slowly his fingers traced over the curving shapes, the silvery-white smooth under his hand. Anders had left this behind intentionally. But why? Although he claimed that he was unable to stay with Fenris because of his cause, there was no reason why he should have left it behind.

  Fenris’ first thought was that Anders had decided to give up on him entirely, to purge him from his heart. But his letter suggested otherwise. His mother’s pillow, the one that he tried to keep hidden from Fenris and had failed, suggested otherwise. Anders was a sentimental person, the kind of man who stuffed letters in the pages of his books. Who still cried over Karl, years later.  

  His fingers tightened around the mask as a third possibility presented itself to him.

  Anders had left behind the mask because he did not anticipate being around to appreciate it.

  Fenris remembered the mage vowing to stop Hawke, remembered convincing him to stay behind. He had tried his hardest, but it seemed he had failed even in this. All he had done was slow the mage down- The mage who was likely now headed straight for the Champion.


	25. Chapter 25

  “I fail to see why you follow her. By right you are the Knight-Commander now, and should be in control of the Order.” Seeker Pentaghast and Cullen stood on one of the balconies in Viscount’s Keep, watching the mostly deserted floor below them. It was late at night, neither able to sleep, and they had happened across each other wandering the hallways.

  “I am the Knight-Commander,” Cullen replied with a disheartening lack of confidence. “But there is no longer a Circle for me or my men to watch over. Assisting Hawke with protecting Kirkwall gives my men something to do while we… Sort things out.”

  “The Templars should be ordered to other Circles then. You of all people know the procedures when a Circle falls.” She bit out, not bothering to hide her frustration.

  Cullen flinched and Cassandra immediately regretted her words. “I- I am sorry Cullen, I did not mean to…”

  “No,” he said, eyes far away, “You are correct. I should know better.”

  They were quiet for a long moment, the only sounds being the crackle of lit torches and the quiet conversing of the Templars who now guarded the Keep at night.

  “I do not like this woman,” Cassandra finally said, voice quiet. “She has used the chaos to her advantage.”

  “She did what was necessary,” Cullen replied. Maker but he was so tired- And still he knew that if he returned to his bed that there would be no rest for him. Sometimes he wondered if the Maker was punishing him for his sins. For failing the Circle at Kinloch Hold. For failing the Circle here. So much death- So much blood and agony.

  “Hm,” Cassandra replied, “I am glad that the apostate who murdered Grand Cleric was executed, but I am not convinced that the entire Circle had to be annulled. He was not even a part of this Circle. There seems to be a great deal of unnecessary death around this Hawke.”

  Or around me, Cullen thought, but did not say.

  “The Grand Enchanter was a blood mage and turned into an abomination. I would say that gives just cause.”

  “Just as Meredith went mad and turned into…” Cassandra quieted. She had seen the statue for herself, had had to in order to verify the tales, and the image of the Knight Commander turned to lyrium now haunted her days and nights. She had seen many terrible things in her lifetime, but Kirkwall was somehow worse than any of it.

  Sighing she said, “It is no matter. This… Conflict that was started here has extended far beyond the borders of Kirkwall. I came here to discover the truth and although it is… Fantastical at times, it is what Most Holy asked of me.” She turned to him, watching him for a moment. “This… Situation was unfortunate. But you are a good man Cullen. I think you could become important, in the days ahead of us.”

  Cullen turned to stare at her, wishing to be polite but also exhausted by the idea of involving himself any further with this madness. “I appreciate it Seeker, but I think I shall leave things like that for the politicians and heros.”

  Cassandra grunted and looked back over the balcony again. “I will not be fighting alongside Hawke if I can help it. The woman may not be a despot but…”

  But she had slaughtered the mages of Kirkwall, unnecessarily in Cassandra’s opinion. She had used the apostate as an excuse to justify her violent actions, when they had not been warranted. She had used her power to seize Kirkwall and control of the Templar order.

  “Then you may find yourself a new general, if that is what you are asking for,” Cullen replied, no longer bothering to hide the fatigue in his voice. “I will not be putting my name in the hat.”

  Before Cassandra could argue with him further they heard the sound of the main doors of the Keep being shoved open and the sound of feet running inside. Both tensed instantly and began to move towards the noise.

  When they had made it down one set of stairs it was to see Hawke. She was dressed in a robe and simple pants, standing in the middle of the room with several Templars standing around her. Though it was impossible to see the expressions on their faces Cullen could tell that they were uncomfortable.

  “Viscount,” he said, inclining his head in deference to her. “Are you alright? You look… Startled.”

  Hawke turned around to look at Cullen, her gaze briefly moving to Cassandra before she looked away again. She appeared to have run to the Keep from her home and was breathing heavily, her hair mussed.

  “Cullen,” she said, slowly walking towards him. “You were there the day that the Chantry was destroyed. You stood behind Meredith as we all watched it crumble to the ground.”

  Cullen stared at her, a slow curl of unease forming in his gut. It was the middle of the night- What had possessed Hawke to come here and start harping on this topic?

  “I was,” he said, “Of course. I have not forgotten it.”

  This seemed to please something in Hawke’s eyes and her expression gained an edge of feverishness that Cullen did not like.

  “So you witnessed it- The- The execution of the apostate, Anders? My wolf killed him- You watched it, we all watched it.”

  The hall had grown so quiet that, faintly, he thought he could hear the sound of one of the mice scurrying about. But he forced himself to answer her, though it made him uncomfortable.

  “Yes,” He said, “I watched your… Companion execute him. He stayed behind to take care of the body.” He remembered that day clearly and though he would never tell a soul a part of him had been saddened to see that it was Anders who had done such a terrible thing. Cullen remembered him from his days at Kinloch Hold- Too free spirited and mischievous by far but ultimately harmless.

  Oh how things changed.

  “Yes,” Hawke said, nodding, but very slowly. She seemed to be watching Cullen intently, for what he did not know. Behind him he could almost feel Cassandra’s frown.

  “Viscount,” she said, “With all due respect, I must ask why you had to come to the Keep in the middle of the night to ask these questions.”

  But if Hawke heard her she didn’t respond. Instead she continued to look at Cullen and said, “And you’re certain that you watched him die?”

  “What- I-” Cullen frowned, and the Templars around Hawke shuffled uneasily, “Certain enough. Your companion, Fenris, stuck his hand in his chest. I can’t imagine many men surviving that.”

  “Anders isn’t like many men,” Hawke said, voice very soft, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “What- What are you saying?” Cullen stared at her, taken aback. “We both saw him executed- His heart ripped from his chest- How can you doubt that?”

  Hawke seemed to snap out of her reverie and marched towards Cullen, eyes intent and stormy. “Because you know as well as I do, Commander, that this is a city unlike any other. A city where bandits, cultists and skeletons roam the streets. Where a man or woman may be raised from the dead without a second thought.”

  “I-” Cullen started, meaning to stop this before it could get out of hand only for Hawke to interrupt him.

  “I want the city searched, top to bottom, for that sewer rat. And the wolf, Fenris.”

  Her declaration was met with disbelief. “Viscount, with all due respect, you cannot come here in the middle of the night and demand that I rouse my men to search for- For a dead man.”

  “But he’s _not dead_ , Cullen- Don’t you see that? We’ve been tricked- That apostate is alive and likely plotting against us as we speak-”

  “My Lady, please,” Cullen said, raising both hands as if they could calm Hawke, “Can this not wait until at least the morning? Go home and sleep, or maybe think this over. My men are not prepared to launch into something like this at a moment’s notice-”

  “Why not?” Hawke asked, clearly growing agitated at being denied, “This city was almost destroyed by mages not a few months ago- Would you risk it happening again? Why have I left you with the title of Knight-Commander if you cannot even do this simple thing you-”

  Cassandra stepped forward as Hawke made a noise of frustration and an angry slashing motion with her hand. “Viscount,” she said, “With all due respect it is the Chantry who imbues Cullen with such authority.” She slid a glance to Cullen but he was too busy staring at Hawke in growing alarm to notice.

  “With all due respect _Seeker_ this is my city. A sovereign nation, one that I rule over.” Hawke glared at her, hands curling into fists. In the weeks that the Seeker had been in the city she had been no friend to Hawke and frankly the Champion was tired of all of her meddling and asking questions.

  The two women stared at each other, the tension building until it threatened to erupt into violence. It was Cullen, finally, who broke it.

  “Please, Viscount,” he said, voice tired, “Please leave this for the morning. We have only a few hours until daylight. Give me that much at least and then we will start your manhunt.”

  It took her a moment but Hawke finally moved her eyes from Cassandra to Cullen and although it was obvious she was displeased she seemed to have been mollified, for the time being.

  “So be it, Knight-Commander. But I had better see you and a team of your most elite men here at first dawn. I will gather my own team.”

  After throwing one last glare at the Seeker she turned on her heel and moved away swiftly, likely to find the few of her companions who remained in Kirkwall and in her good graces.

  The silence that fell after her departure was deafening. Both Cassandra and, he was sure, the Templars seemed to be throwing him furtive glances until finally Cullen said, “All of you should rest. I am sure that the next few hours will bring a great deal of… Excitement.”

  The assembled Templars seemed resistant to leaving their commander but finally one of them nodded and said, “We will return in a few hours,” and with that they turned, finally leaving Cullen and Cassandra alone in the massive hallway.

  “Cullen,” Cassandra started, “Are you quite certain that your Viscount has not gone mad?”

  “Why do you ask, because I missed it the first time?” Cullen could not help but reply, thinking of Meredith. “No, I do not believe she has. She is paranoid, but you don’t… You don’t know Kirkwall. You don’t know the things that happen here, things that are common.”

  “So you believe it’s possible that the apostate who killed Grand Cleric Elthina may still be alive?”

  “No,” Cullen admitted, “Not really. I don’t even fully understand why Hawke would be suspicious of that, after all this time.” Sighing he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he would not have slept anyway but Maker, could he have just one day of peace…

  “She also mentioned wanting that elf, Fenris, tracked down,” Cassandra mused thoughtfully. “I would assume he was with her. They seemed… Close.”

  “Hmph, perhaps he left her. Perhaps he left the city. I would not blame him in either case.” Sighing he shook his head and turned away. “Well, I am going to go to my study, I will see you in a few hours Seeker.”

  “Of course, Knight-Commander,” Cassandra said, staring at the man’s retreating back. There was something afoot here, something she was not seeing, at least not clearly.

  She had learned a great deal about the events surrounding the destruction of the Chantry and subsequent Right of Annulment that had been performed since coming to Kirkwall. From what she had gathered Fenris had been a loyal companion of Hawke’s and a rival to the apostate. He was also, by all accounts, a very capable warrior. For him to fail to kill Anders, especially under the circumstances, suggested that he had done so intentionally.

  But why? They had both been companions of Hawke for the better part of a decade, from what her research had shown but the stories she had pried out of Varric told her that they had been anything but friends. To save a man who had destroyed the Chantry, murdered the Grand Cleric, and started this war seemed completely illogical.

  It didn’t make sense. Not unless… She shook her head. A foolish thought. The dwarf had told her that the two hated each other. It was only her own, romantic notions that made her consider otherwise.

  Sighing she turned to head back to her own lodgings. She was a Seeker, after all, and she had work to do.

\---

  It was only when she heard the Seeker leave the main foyer of the Keep that Isabela peeled herself away from where she had been pressed against one of the large columns that supported the building, hiding and eavesdropping.

  This was bad. This was very, very bad. She had left the mansion to go to Hawke’s in order to try and speak to Fenris again only to find that the elf had gone. More than a little afraid for her friend she had hidden in the gardens of the estate, hoping to gather some clues as to what had happened.

  Shortly after she arrived she had heard the front door slamming open and Hawke rushing out. She then had decided to follow her to Viscount’s Keep only to discover what she had just overheard.

  If Anders was smart, if he was lucky, he would not actually be in Kirkwall. She and Zevran had searched for weeks and had found only useless clues and dead-end trails. If he wasn't in the city then Hawke wouldn't be able to find him.

  Or he could continue to hide and evade.

  Or, she thought with a grimace, he would challenge Hawke when he realized there were no other mages in Kirkwall for him to save.

   Isabela wanted to be optimistic but it had never gotten her very far in life. No, she knew where this was going, knew that there would be no happy ending.

  She huffed a silent breath as she dropped to the ground next to the thick gardens of some Hightown estate before getting up again. Fenris’ mansion was close and there Merrill and Zevran waited for her.

  She thought for a long time about just leaving Kirkwall. Anders and Fenris were dear friends but if they insisted on putting themselves into greater and greater danger that was their problem. She didn't want anything to happen to Merrill, or herself for that matter, because the two fools were too stubborn to leave the city.

  But then Isabela just sighed, knowing that she couldn't really abandon them. Merrill, she knew, wouldn't let her and eventually she would regret it.

  When finally she saw the hulking form of Fenris’ mansion before her she quickened her pace. She hopped the back fence just as the first rays of sunlight began to break through the cover of night and gracefully entered through what had once been a back kitchen window.

  Merrill was standing at the stove brewing tea, Zevran sitting on the counter and idly swinging his legs. Both looked up when she entered, obviously expecting news.

  Isabela smiled at them, though it was forced, and held her hand out for a cup of tea. It paled in comparison to the rich, black coffee she had drunk as a young woman but it would have to do.

  “Thank you kitten,” she said, accepting the steaming mug and then leaning against the counter. She thought for a moment before shaking her head. There was no sugarcoating this.

  “Hawke is starting a manhunt for Anders and Fenris is missing,” she said. She paused and then, frowning slightly, said: “Actually, she may have wanted the manhunt to be for Anders _and_ Fenris. She was a little careless with her wording.”

  “Creators,” Merrill said, obviously alarmed. Next to her Zevran remained alert but otherwise unconcerned. “But- Why? Shouldn't she think that Anders is dead? We were so careful.”

  “ _We_ were careful,” Isabela corrected, “The man who came back to the place where he destroyed a Chantry and the elf who went straight back into Hawke’s arms on the other hand…”

  Isabela looked down at her tea, realizing that she was genuinely angry. Angry at her two friends, and scared for them as well. She shook her head and then tried for a cheerier tone. “Well, whatever happens we still have my ship.” Looking at Zevran she said, “I'm sorry darling- This has all become a great deal more complicated than anticipated. I'd understand if you left- You have your own mage to be getting back to, don't you?”

  Zevran chuckled, as if the turn of events were a minor inconvenience. “And miss the adventure? I think not. Besides, Surana was always very fond of this Anders. Whatever happens, she would want me to protect him.”

  “Even with all of his…” Isabela made a motion with his hands.

  “Mm, I am truly in no position to judge. Likely I have killed more than your mage could ever hope to. And if Surana has accepted my crimes, well…” He looked away, eyes soft. “She is capable of overlooking many, many things. Lucky for me.”

  Sighing Isabela closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to think. “Then we'll do our best to save them both.” She looked at Merrill, who was staring sadly into her tea, before exchanging a knowing glance with Zevran. Merrill was still at the most risk and Isabela would not let anything happen to her.

  “Now that that is settled, we should come up with a plan, no? Anders has evaded us for weeks- It is time to come up with a new direction.”

  Isabela chewed her lower lip, “We've already searched more of Darktown than I've ever cared to. But I can't imagine him in any other part of the city.”

  “I was thinking that perhaps we try to track down Fenris- He has less reason to hide and so perhaps will be easier to find.”

  “Yeah,” Isabela snorted, “He only evaded his Master and bounty hunters for some ten years.”

  “Then it is a good thing that we are his-” Zevran paused briefly, “-Friends. Perhaps he will even-”

  And that was when the sound of the front door being slammed open reached them.

 ---

  Fenris had been torn between rushing back to the dilapidated mansion and scouring Darktown for the mage. In the end he had decided to return to his home, knowing that this was no longer a situation he could deal with on his own.

 Mentally he had snorted- He hadn't been capable since that first night he had stumbled into Anders’ clinic.

  A part of him wondered if this was just foolishness. Anders could very well have left the mask behind because he did not wish to remember Fenris. But something in the elf’s gut told him this was not the case.

  He wondered what his duty was, here. Anders had left him again and again and perhaps it was time for Fenris to stop chasing after something that would never be real.

  But he could not let Anders go down this road, not alone. He would have let him be, had he thought that Anders was simply leaving Kirkwall. But he wasn’t- In his heart Fenris knew that Anders intended to confront Hawke. He knew that he was willing to make himself a martyr.

  He remembered a conversation they had had on the journey to Rialto. He had been feeling bold, angry, a potent mixture of the two.

  “Were you truly ready to die?” he had asked Anders, staring at the other man. They had faced death so many times at Hawke’s side but there was a difference between dying in battle and letting oneself be killed.

  Anders had been quiet for a long time, staring out at the sea. He had no longer had his spirit to converse with but it hadn't made him any more sociable. At least, not with Fenris.

  Finally, however, he had spoken.

  “There came a certain point, living in Kirkwall, that I realized I wouldn't leave the city alive.” He had frowned briefly, only for his expression to smooth out again. His voice had been very quiet, a stark contrast to Fenris’ barely controlled anger. “Karl…”

  He seemed to start and stop a few times before finally resigning himself to having to explain to Fenris his thoughts.

  “He was the best man I'd ever met. Smart and kind. He was also good at following rules, unlike I was. I was wracked with grief and guilt after I killed him and at first that was all I could think about. But then I started… I started to realize that if he couldn't survive Kirkwall, well, what chance did I have?

  “Of course Justice didn't let me give in but as the years went on even he started to get worn down. Yes we helped some people, got some mages out but…” He sighed. “The victories were so small, compared to our losses.”

  Fenris had stared at him, surprised. He had rarely heard Anders express doubt about his cause.

  “But your clinic,” he said, “All of those people you healed.”

  Anders nodded, “It… Wasn't the reason I came to Kirkwall but once I got here I couldn't help but put my powers to use.” He smiled, a small thing that felt almost unbearably private to Fenris. “Yes, I did enjoy the clinic while it lasted. It gave me purpose as well, in its own way.”

  But Anders had given it up for his larger cause, as he’d given up so many other things. Fenris had wondered if the problem was that Anders didn't value the things in his life, or if he simply didn't value himself. He supposed he knew what the answer was.

  It drew far too much attention to burst through the front doors the way he did but all he could think of was getting back to Isabela, Merrill and the Crow as fast as he could. There was no telling when Anders had left him or what he might have done since and although the streets of Hightown were quiet he suspected they would not be for long.

  He walked quickly, feet instinctively moving around shattered tiles and other debris, only to stop when he felt two figures materialize on either side on him.

  Rogues, he thought with some irritation. But at least these were ones he trusted. For the most part.

  Looking up he saw Merrill standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, staff gripped tightly in her hands. She was looking at him with a mixture of relief and fear and he realized what it must look like, him coming back without Anders.

“Anders is alive,” he said, and he watched her shoulders droop with relief.

  “And yet he is not with you,” the Crow said as he lowered his daggers. “Or is he hiding behind one of the doors, hoping to surprise us?”

  Fenris shot him an annoyed look before huffing and looking down at his feet. “He was with me until a few hours ago. And then he… Left.”

  “Left?” This time when he looked up it was to see Isabela staring at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You found him and then he _left?_ ”

  “I- Well-” He felt his face heat up in a mixture of embarrassment and shame. “I thought… That he was leaving Kirkwall. And that he did not wish for me to accompany him.”

  Isabela looked past him to Merrill and Zevran and, as sweetly as she could muster, said, “If you wouldn't mind, I’d like a moment alone with Fenris.”

  Both elves shared a look with each other before conceding and moving back to the kitchen, shutting the door behind them. Not that it mattered much- As soon as it closed Isabela began yelling and they could hear her quite clearly.

  Fenris waited for Isabela to finish her ranting, knowing that he had been foolish in letting Anders go. He didn't see the need for Isabela to insult his mother, especially as he didn't even remember the woman, but said nothing.

  When she finally quieted, chest heaving impressively he said, tone infuriatingly calm, “I have made many mistakes.”

   “No shit,” Isabela shot back before rubbing at her head and groaning. “Do you have any idea- We searched for him for weeks. For _weeks_. We sailed half-way across the bloody sea and you just- Let him slip from your grasp.”

  “He rejected me,” Fenris replied, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting where he stood. “I… Accepted it. I thought he would leave Kirkwall and be safe and so I accepted it. I had no wish to chain him to me.”

  “Yes, because his other friends certainly wouldn't want to see him alive and well.”

  Fenris winced and inclined his head towards her, “I was not thinking. But I…” He sighed and looked away. “I do not believe that he intends to leave Kirkwall, now that he knows that Hawke killed the last of the mages here. I think that he will challenge her, and die in the process.”

  Isabela stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and swearing. “I love the both of you louts but if you could have an _ounce_ of self preservation…”

  Fenris raised his head again, looking as grim and determined as he ever did. “I will stop him. I will drag him from the city and prevent him from doing this. And then…” He grew a little sheepish, “Then I will let him go.”

  “You'll have to find him before Hawke does and with the Templars on her side I don't know that you have much of a chance.”

  Fenris stared at her, startled. “Excuse me?”

  Isabela crossed her arms over her chest, an unusually severe look on her face. “This morning Hawke burst into Viscount’s Keep, ranting about how Anders was still alive and needed to be hunted down. That Cullen seems to think she’s crazy but he’ll humor her. And then they'll find him.”

  “What? When? How long do we have-”

  “They were going to set out at sunrise,” she looked to the grimy windows, “Which was some time ago.”

  “ _Kaffas_ ,” he growled. He looked out the window again, a look of pain and then defeat passing over his face. “I am not going to save him am I?”

  Isabela just shook her head and sighed. “I can't say anything about that. But what is certain is that you are not going to go charging out alone. We’ll come with you, and if we catch Anders we’ll drag his scrawny ass back with us. None of this letting going of him so he can go martyr himself business.”

  Fenris’ face seemed to crumple at that and although she knew she was being weak Isabela said, a bit more quietly, “We’ll get him back. One way or another.”

  “Yes,” Fenris said, voice rough. It took him a moment but he finally got himself back under control. “Yes we will.”

  Isabela watched him before sighing and turning towards the kitchen. She had a few words for Zevran and Merrill too.

\---

  As Hawke stood in front of her dressing room mirror slowly strapping on her armor she thought back to the previous night. Fenris had never outright said that Anders was still alive but his use of the present tense, when Anders had been dead all of those months, had made her immediately suspicious. And once Hawke began to imagine the impossible- that Anders was still alive- many other things had begun to fall into place.

  Fenris stepping forward, offering to kill him.

  Fenris, and Anders’ body, disappearing after the fighting, never to be found. Even Varric with his vast resources had been unable to pin them down.

  The elf’s obvious lie about where he had been the past few months.

  And then his strange behavior since returning. His concern over the deaths of the mages.

  Her eyes followed the cold, unforgiving lines of her gauntlet as she pulled the leather straps tight, the metal of the buckles pressing into her arm. She remembered the way Anders blood had shone off of Fenris’ gauntlet, the way it had dripped down his arm in little rivulets. One never realized how brightly colored, how beautiful, blood was until they saw it with their own eyes.

  She pulled her other gauntlet off her armor rack, putting it on. How foolish had she been, to trust Fenris?

  And yet, how could she not? They had fucked once and he was the only person beyond her family and Varric that she had felt anything approaching love for. She had wanted to possess him, had dreamt of him night after night.

  What was love, if not that all consuming urge to own another person?

  And he had betrayed her. _Her_ who had done everything for him. Fought at his side against slavers and magisters, kept him safe as he lived in Kirkwall.

  It was an unpleasant thought but even worse was the knowledge that if Fenris was capable of betraying her then anyone was.

  Aveline had to be enraged over the way that the Templars had taken control of Kirkwall.

  Sebastian had run back to Starkhaven, leaving her as so many others had.

  Isabela and Merrill had disappeared into thin air. Not that she blamed them- Merrill would have been close behind Anders if Hawke had had her way. It was only Isabela’s wrath and her need of Merrill’s services that he kept Hawke from turning her into the Templars.

  And Fenris. She remembered once the way that he had argued with Sebastian, about how they could not turn the mages over to the Circle.

  “Fool,” she whispered, staring at herself in the floor length mirror. She looked dangerous in her armor but there were bags under her eyes and a redness that spoke of exhaustion.

  What of Varric? He was the only one of her companions who had remained steadfastly by her side. He had been good friends with the mage, teasing him and eliciting a laugh when few of the others could.

  Could she trust anyone?

  Hawke swallowed the low moan that threatened to escape her throat. She could not walk that road for down it lay madness. Down it lay Meredith and the red lyrium statue that remained in the center of the Gallows. She felt electricity dance up her arm and, thrown off by the sudden loss of control she shook her arm.

  “Be quiet,” she hissed to herself. She was not Meredith. She was _better_. Meredith had been twisted by the red lyrium but Hawke remained sane. It was not fevered paranoia that drove her but ideals, a sense of moral righteousness. Her arm went quiet again, her magic repressed, for now.

   _Even the children?_ Fenris had sounded so horrified and though she would never admit it she did understand. Killing the young apprentices had not been pleasant but it had been necessary, like pulling a weed before it could reach its full height and choke the other plants in the garden.

  It had been so easy. Many had been too young to understand, let alone fight back. She dreamt of their screams, their wailing, often.

  Some of the enchanters and older mages had offered to go quietly in exchange for her sparing the younger ones. So selfless, so noble. But Hawke had never pretended to be either of those things and when she had finished off the adults she had gone back for the children.

  Slowly she opened her eyes again, watching herself dully in the looking glass. She wondered if the Maker would understand. Or if he would have just as little mercy for her.

  Suddenly she heard the sound of feet pounding up the stairs to her bedroom. Instinctively she pulled her sword from her sheath, preparing herself, when Varric burst through the door.

  “Hawke,” he said, red faced and panting a little, “One of my runners just-” he shook his head, “Just told me you were organizing a manhunt for _Anders._ What in the Void is going on?”

  “Exactly as it sounds,” she said, outwardly calm. “I have reason to believe that he is alive and in Kirkwall.”

  “What?” Varric frowned, “That’s crazy-”

  Hawke barely contained herself. She was not crazy. She was not Meredith.

  “Fenris told me as much.”

  Varric’s jaw dropped open and for a moment he just stared at her. “Nugshit,” he said, without much feeling. “Broody wouldn't…”

  “There are many things I did not think Fenris capable of. I was wrong.”

  “But- We saw- He stuck his hand in his chest.”

  “He tricked us.” Hawke looked away, cheeks red with anger and shame. “But he will not again. I will hunt them both down.”

  “Hawke,” Varric said, voice pleading, “He must be mistaken- You can't… you can't just-” He wouldn't say the word ‘kill' but they both knew it was there. “This is Fenris. You love him.”

  “And he betrayed me.” She turned to look fully at Varric, eyes narrow. “He is a snake and I will cut his head off just like one. As will be the fate for _anyone_ who breaks my trust.”

  Varric just stared at her, wondering where the young, scared girl that he had first met had gone. Hawke had always been brash and quick to anger but this was something else entirely.

  “I’m at your side Hawke, you know that.” He said quietly, “But if we find Broody maybe try listening to him first?”

  Hawke frowned and then shook her head. “We will find him and then deal with such things. Come, we are to meet Cullen and the rest of the Templars at Viscount's Keep.” She looked to the window where the early morning sunlight streamed in weakly. “We are already late.”

  With that she strode forward, brushing past Varric who was left standing in the doorway of her room. It took him a long time to swallow his shock and to finally get moving again.

  Andraste preserve them all.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been waiting to write and post this chapter for 50 billion years. its long, but there wasn't any part of it i felt comfortable splitting up. after this there will probably be one or two more chapters and then... then the second longest thing ive written will be done. (though this will likely end up being a *very* close second.) 
> 
> there are a lot of perspective changes so i've put dashes when it changes to try and help, i hope they aren't too confusing but i really wanted to get both anders and fenris' perspective, as well as a little bit of hawkes
> 
> also, i'm going to play really fast and loose with the rules of magic for the sake of Drama and Action. Anders will be a bamf, but that of course is canon.
> 
> there is violence and character death in this chapter but again, please mind the tags concerning the ending of this story
> 
> songs for this chapter are:  
> Killing Jar - Marcus Marr  
> Charger - Gorillaz  
> A Girl Like You - Edwyn Collins  
> Dark Days - Local Natives

  He walked the streets as the sun began to rise, spilling light over the uneven cobblestones. At times like these, when the city was just beginning to awaken and it was not too hot or noisy, it was almost beautiful. 

  Anders had spent many mornings walking the path from Darktown to the Lowtown market in search of herbs or other supplies for the clinic. Once he had met Hawke he’d taken to going to Hightown and this was where he was headed now.

  He had thought of challenging her in her home but if she was acting as the Viscount he imagined that he would not find her there. Besides, Viscount’s Keep was likely to be full of Templars and Anders had not come here to kill Hawke and then slip away quietly into the night.

  He would challenge her, and either kill or be killed. But even if he did manage to win he knew that it was likely that he would be executed shortly after. 

  Justice seemed to disagree and Anders supposed that he was remembering the last time a group of Templars had tried to take them.

  Burnt flesh. Ripped out throats.

  It felt like a long time since he had used the word but Fenris was right- He  _ was  _ an abomination.

  He had left the man sleeping in his cot though it had been difficult. All he had wanted was to lay back down again, curl around him and forget about burning cities or mad rulers. He had wanted to run away with him, to go to that beautiful place that he had imagined in his mind’s eye. 

  If he tried hard enough he could smell the salt in the air, hear the sound of waves crashing against the rocks somewhere far away. It would be sunny all the time and he would enjoy basking in it with Fenris.

  Except that it was never going to be more than a dream. He had thought about returning to his bed but then he had remembered what Fenris had told him. All of the mages had been killed, and by Hawke.

  He felt the guilt for it acutely. He should have fought on their side, after the explosion. He knew that he could have saved at least a few but instead he had offered himself up so easily. Closing his eyes he pictured Hawke’s face. The nasty way she had snarled at him. The cruel smirk as Fenris had stepped forward.

  He should have known she would go after the mages, and win. He’d been so  _ foolish _ .

  But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was vengeance. 

  He had failed the mages. Failed Fenris. Failed his friends.

  But as he reached the courtyard just before Viscount's Keep he told himself that he would not fail in this. Templars milled about, appearing a little edgy but most just looked over him. He wondered how many of them actually knew his face, or if they’d always thought of him as some dark, twisted figure.

  He’d been the Healer of Darktown. An apostate who had walked the Gallows as if he could not be touched. Who had stared down both Meredith and Grand Cleric Elthina. 

  He finally stopped, removing his staff from his back and taking a deep breath. For a moment he had the terrifying thought that there was no turning back from this. That once he pulled his hood back and revealed himself he was as good as dead. 

  Anders pulled on his courage and Justice’s. He pulled on his rage and Vengeance’s. He made himself remember Hawke’s face, and all of the faces of the mages in the Gallows he had tried to help.

  His heart slowed, his breath evened out.

  And then Anders, renegade apostate, let his hood fall back and looked up, opening his eyes.

  He had attracted attention but no one had yet approached him. At the edges of the courtyard Templars and normal people alike watched him warily. 

  They knew what he was. There was no denying the power emanating from him.

  His eyes, full of a righteous anger, stared ahead at the doors to the keep. None of the other people mattered. All that he cared about lay beyond those doors, waiting for him.

  As he slowly started to raise his staff a low humming began to fill the air. His robes rustled about him as an unnatural wind moved through the courtyard and around him people began to move away.

  The sky above him started to churn and roil, upset by the display of power. The wind around him howled and he hoped that Hawke knew that it was him, finally come for her. 

  Several of the Templars at the edges of his vision had unsheathed their swords but they had not yet approached him. He did not smirk or even look at them. They were not important.

  The sky had turned black and overhead Anders heard the sound of rumbling, like war drums. Finally he opened his mouth to speak:

  “I am the apostate Anders. Healer of Darktown.” Around the head of his staff power hummed and crackled. He had begun to steadily raise his voice, so that he could be heard clearly over the sound of his magic and the coming storm. “I have come for justice.” The spirit, already so present, came to the surface easily as he continued to speak.

  “ **I have come to avenge my people** .” Blue light streaked across his skin, his eyes flashing blue for a brief moment. 

  “ **I HAVE COME FOR HAWKE** .” He brought down his staff with a roar and from it lightning burst, cracking open the sky. “ **I DEMAND SHE FACE ME FOR HER CRIMES** .”

  And then the doors to Viscount’s Keep opened.

\---

  When they stepped outside the crumbling mansion, now fully armored, it was to see that the sun has disappeared behind green, bruised looking clouds. The air felt thin, electric and behind him Merrill muttered, “Creators,” and then shivered.

  He had experienced this kind of thing before. Magisters or their spoiled progeny out of control. It took a very powerful mage to affect the weather like this and for a moment he closed his eyes. 

  They were not going to save Anders, not from Hawke and not from himself.

  He had failed.

  “We should get to Viscount's Keep if that's where we think Anders is,” Isabela said, looking up at the sky with a frown. Turning back to Merrill she said, “Hawke will likely be there as well, along with her Templars. Merrill…”

  “I'm coming,” She said, raising her chin and straightening her shoulders. “Anders is my friend too, and I'm not abandoning him.”

  Isabela’s frown deepened. She seemed to argue internally with herself before finally acquiescing. “Fine. But we're not losing you too, understood?”

  The elf’s face softened, “You won't. And you can't tell me to stay back either. I'm not scared of the Templars.” She smiled wryly, “Or most shem for that matter.”

  Isabela returned the smile, though it looked a little forced to Fenris’ eyes, and then slid a glance to Zevran who nodded subtly. Finally she turned forward and, collecting herself, said, “Let’s head out. And keep our wits about us.”

  Fenris nodded, though he said nothing, merely beginning to move. Above them thunder rumbled, lightning crackling. He felt goosebumps break out onto his skin, the hairs at the back of his neck raising unpleasantly. As they began to make their way from his mansion to Viscount’s Keep he could not help but notice how empty the streets had become. Every so often he would see a single Templar, or pair of them, heading in the direction that they were and he felt a chill run through him.

  Anders had to know that he could not challenge Hawke without the Templars coming to her defense. He could not reveal that he was in Kirkwall without the Templars demanding his blood.

  Fenris wanted them to hurry, and yet was almost terrified of what they would find. 

  Thunder rumbled again and this time he could not help but quicken his pace. The streets and alleys of Kirkwall were convoluted and twisting, as sly as any snake, but they traveled through them swiftly. 

  And then they found themselves at the edges of the courtyard and realized that their haste had been in vain. 

\---

  “Viscount,” Cullen said, exhausted and on edge, “I have put together a team of my best men. We will help you search Kirkwall for… For the apostate.” Behind him the five Templars he had chosen for this task stood straight and proud. None of them moved or shifted, even though the air in the room was tense and uncomfortable.

  Hawke looked over the men, her sharp eyes appearing to size them up and then dismiss them. She looked to Cullen and then asked, “And you trust them?”

  “Of course,” he replied. He was used to this sort of questioning from Meredith and was made all the more uncomfortable by that realization. “They are my best men and women.”

  She nodded, “Good. And you are coming with us as well?”

  Cullen had to keep himself from sighing in exasperation. He did not want to, but he suspected that he had little choice.

  “Of course, Viscount.”

  “Thank you, Cullen,” she said, though she did not smile. Next to her Varric shifted a little. He appeared to be readying to say something when all of a sudden they heard the sound of thunder rumbling.

  Everyone in the room looked up, obviously confused. It had looked to be the start of a bright day, not a single cloud on the horizon, when they had all entered the Keep. Frowning Hawke looked to the few windows in the room and saw that they now appeared grey beyond them. It was always a little dim in the keep, but she realized that it must have suddenly begun storming outside.

  And then Cullen, obviously disturbed, said, “Maker, that magic…”

  Lightning flashed outside, followed quickly by a loud  _ boom _ . The Templars in the group shifted and then looked to Cullen who was now staring in shock at the Champion.

  “That- Can you not sense that Viscount?”

  Hawke’s frown turned more severe and, despite herself, she felt a chill of apprehension run up her spine. “I- Of course, Knight Commander. But…”

  But Anders was supposed to be hiding like a sewer rat in Darktown, terrified and shaking in his boots. She was supposed to find him, like a hunter with her hounds. She was supposed to find him and then string him up, to make an example of him.

  She heard the sound of a door slamming open and heavily booted feet running towards the assembled group. Tensing, she saw that it was one of the young page boys that worked in the Keep, face red and panting heavily.

  He bowed deeply and then looking up said, “Viscount, Knight-Commander, there is- There is- A commotion outside. A man using… Magic.” Thunder resounded, as if to punctuate his statement. “He is demanding… He is demanding to see you, Viscount. He says-” The boy bit his lip, his ears twitching in anxiety. “He wants justice.”

  Hawke felt her vision narrow at the word. Felt both rage and terror fill her heart in equal amounts.

  “Justice,” she spat, not even noticing how the boy flinched away from her. “He wants  _ justice _ ?” 

  Beside her Cullen had hung his head, eyes filled with disbelief. “I didn’t think…” He whispered, “It didn’t seem possible…” 

  “Shit,” Varric said at her other side. 

  Hawke closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. It did not matter that Anders had come to challenge her. She was going to kill him either way, and if she did so in front of her men and the rest of Hightown well… Perhaps it would be better. They would see that she could still keep order in this city. That they had nothing to worry about from magic. That she would defend against it as well as any Templar’s sword.

  She opened her eyes again, her rage under control. 

  “Thank you,” she said to the boy, “You have done well.” Turning to Cullen she continued, “You see Knight-Commander that I was right to be suspicious. I will face Anders and I will put him down once and for all. If he is accompanied by Fenris he will suffer the same fate for his treason.”

  Next to her Varric started to make a noise before quieting. Wise of him, thought Hawke to herself.

  “Of course, Viscount,” Cullen said, looking at her with determination. “We cannot allow him to survive a second time.”

  “Do not worry,” Hawke said, and allowed herself to smile, “He won’t.”

  She turned around, now facing the large doors of the main entrance of Viscount’s Keep and mentally prepared herself. “Varric- Go get Aveline and her remaining guards. Cullen, at my side. You and your Templars will stay back for now but if I have need of you I want you available.”

  “It would be easiest for us to work together to take him down-” Cullen started, frowning.

  “Perhaps, but nothing easy is worth doing. And I want the pleasure of killing him myself.” 

  “As you say, Viscount.” Cullen said, though his voice remained uncertain. “But we will be at your side.” 

  Hawke nodded and without another word began to stride forward. Outside she heard another lightning strike and could not help but smile. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and through her veins ran excitement and a lust for fighting that had gotten her where she was now. Anders was an enemy-  _ Her  _ enemy- But she would defeat him as she had so many others in the past. The thought brought her the first stirrings of happiness she had felt in a long time. She could only imagine what it would be like when he finally lay at her feet, eyes lifeless.

  As she strode to the doors her footfalls were even, her expression outwardly calm, cool. But every so often her fingers would twitch, instinctively wanting to reach for the sword at her back.

  She stopped just before the doors and took a slow, even breath. “You want justice,” she whispered, so low that only she could hope to hear it. “And I will deliver it to you, Anders.”

  And then she pushed them open, the heavy creak resounding through the hall, and began to descend the steps to the courtyard below.

\---

  Anders watched the doors open and for the first time in months he saw the face of Marian Hawke in the flesh. 

  She had not changed much, physically, but she wore a set of armor that was new to him. It was all sharp edges and black, glinting steel, something dangerous and foreboding. There was no fur ruff at her neck to soften the look, but the red streak across her face had remained. He remembered, once, watching her kneel down next to some bandit she had killed and dipping two fingers in his blood before smearing it across the bridge of her nose.

  He had felt revulsion, and yet also an understanding. Marian Hawke might have been of the Amells but she was no fainting noble. She was a warrior, a hunter. And as she began to prowl towards him she flashed him the sort of smile that she only showed to people she intended to kill.

  “Sewer Rat,” she said, and her grin widened, “How good of you to join us.”

  Cullen and several other templars had been following her but stopped at the foot of the steps as Hawke continued on. So she intended to take him on one-on-one. He did not truly relish fighting her, but there was something satisfactory about this. Finally meeting her head to head.

  He should have known from the beginning that it would all come to this. She had always despised the mages, had treated him and Merrill as if they were dirt beneath her feet. She had kept them around because they were useful and he had remained in order to use her connections and…

  And for Fenris, eventually. 

  No, he could not think of him right now. He would become distracted and that was a mistake that he could not afford to make.

  “My mother taught me some manners,” he replied. Beneath his skin Justice seethed and prowled, like a lion kept back. But Anders needed control for now. He would only rely on the spirit’s strength if he had to. 

  “A pity that the Templars couldn’t seem to finish the job,” Hawke said. She moved within twenty feet of him before stopping, eyes roving over him. “They must have gone easy on you. I don’t think you would have been so mouthy otherwise.”

  He could hold his temper. He  _ would _ .

  “Enough of the chatter, Hawke. I came here to see that you would pay for your crimes.” He brought his staff down to emphasize his words. “You murdered the innocent mages of the Circle of Kirkwall, even after the Chantry rejected Meredith’s call to perform the Right of Annulment. But though the Chantry, corrupt as it is, refuses to put you to trial I have no such qualms.

  “You are guilty Hawke, and this city, these people, are all witnesses.”

  The smile on her face remained, seeming to turn sweet. “And who would convict me? You?”

  “I will be your jury, your judge, if I must.” His eyes bored into her, the tip of his staff sparking, “And your executioner.”

  She laughed and Anders felt his blood boil. Across his hands blue flickered. 

  “I thought as much. But, oh, Anders, you’ve bitten off a little more than you can chew.” Slowly she began to walk, appearing to circle him. Anders turned in order to keep facing her but did not move back. He was not scared of Hawke.

  “I am Marian Revka Hawke, of House Amell, former Champion and now Viscount of Kirkwall. I survived the Deep Roads, defeated the Arishok in single combat and put down the abomination Orsino and the madwoman Meredith.

  “I annulled the Circle of Kirkwall after a mage destroyed the Chantry and murdered the Grand Cleric Elthina. I have purged this city of the sin that is magic, and I will do so again, as many times as it takes, until there is no trace of it left.”

  The clouds above them roiled and although something about the magic around them felt off to Anders he brushed it aside. There were no other mages in Kirkwall save Merrill. Hawke had admitted as much.

  “Your boasting does not impress me,” he said, “A warden does not quail at mere humans and I will not shrug off my duty. Now, have you finished speaking or are you ready to fight me  _ girl _ ?”

  Outrage flashed across Hawke’s face, her smile disappearing into a snarl.

  “Oh, I am ready for more than that  _ apostate _ .” She drew her sword and extended it out, briefly pointing the tip at him, as if marking Anders. And then she lowered it and charged towards him.

\---

  “Hawke-  _ Anders _ -” Fenris watched in horror as they slowly circled one another. Despite the wind that whipped around them their words were audible and his heart clenched. He had to stop them. They would both kill each other. But before he could even start to move Isabela’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

  “Stay back,” she hissed, watching the two fighters move around each other. 

  “They are going to kill each other- I cannot- I cannot-”

  He could not watch it. He could not just stand here, completely impotent.

  “And what will you do? Charge into the middle of them? Who would you even choose?”

  “I would-” He stopped, mouth opening briefly and then closing.

  He wanted to say Anders. But could he honestly say that he would be able to kill Hawke, if it came down to it?

  Hawke, who had been his first real friend. Who had returned his early, no doubt ungainly flirations. Who had shielded him when he had lived in Kirkwall.

  She had become a monster. Perhaps she had always had it in her. But for most of the years that he had known her she had been his friend and, once, his lover. All that she had done, all that she had said, couldn’t erase that. Not completely, anyway.

  He watched the woman as she prowled around Anders, felt his heart squeeze miserably. There were so many conflicting emotions inside of him that he thought his chest might burst. 

  “I’m sorry,” he heard Isabela say quietly beside him, the hand on his shoulder squeezing again. “There’s nothing to do.”

  He knew that she was right, though it did nothing to make him feel better. All he could do now was watch as he man he loved was murdered, either by Templars or the woman who had once been his only friend.

\---

  Hawke was a warrior through and through and approached him the way that all warriors approached mages. She assumed that he was a glass cannon and had decided that fighting him in close quarters was the best way to win.

  It was true that Anders had often been relegated to the back of the group, casting ranged attacks and healing those around him. But if Hawke thought he was some wilting Circle mage she was going to be sorely surprised.

   With a cry she charged him, sword held at her side before bringing it up and then down at the last possible moment. She had meant to cleave him in two but Anders brought his staff up, blocking her.

  For a moment the two pushed against each other, sweating, teeth gritted. The steel of Hawke’s blade screamed against the ironbark of his staff but though it made a notch it was clear that it was not going to break it in half.

  Fenris watched in horror, silently yelling at Anders to put some distance between him and the warrior. Warden or not, he was relying on his staff to fend off a  _ greatsword _ .

  For another moment they remained, like two bucks with their horns interlocked, before Hawke pulled back with a grunt of frustration. She nearly ripped his staff away but Anders held onto it tightly.

  For a moment she eyed him, realizing that she had perhaps underestimated him. No matter- she was stronger than him in every respect.

  This time when she charged him she made a move to strike his right side only to feint to the left. Still Anders brought his staff up again, fending her off. For several minutes they parried, Hawke slashing at him with her sword and Anders bringing his staff up, meeting her at every step.

  They pulled away again, feet swift. Anders still felt relatively calm but it was obvious that Hawke was becoming frustrated.

  Her chest heaved and her face was red from the exertion, but Anders was certain that it was her pride that was the most bruised.

  “Damn you,” she said, “Use your magic at least- I tire of fighting someone with a stick.” She slashed at the air, as if to punctuate her point just as the sky rumbled heavily again.

  Briefly Anders frowned. He thought he’d felt something strange earlier but now he was more certain. There was- There was other magic here- but who it could be coming from-

  He had looked up at the sky as if for an answer. It was his first mistake.

  His second was looking down as Hawke brought one gauntleted fist up against his jaw. Pain burst from the area, radiating up his face and down his neck. He stumbled back, desperately trying to bring his staff up as he fell back. His head spun and it was only instinct that allowed him to block another attempt from Hawke to cut him down.

  She howled in anger and brought her sword up again when suddenly Anders’ hand shot out and he released a bolt of lightning, hitting her almost point blank.

  Her body was thrown the way a careless child threw their ragdoll into the toy bin. When it hit one of the brick building that encircled the courtyard she collapsed into a crumpled heap on the ground.

  Fenris forced himself to watch though his hands itched to cover his eyes, like a child. Isabela’s hand on his shoulder squeezed again and when Anders went down he heard Merrill make a noise of despair.

  But though he was relieved that Anders had survived the onslaught it brought him no joy to see Hawke that way. 

  Breathing heavily Anders stood up, leaning on his staff as his legs shook beneath him. For one moment he thought that he had killed her.

  And then she slowly raised her head to look at him with blackened eyes.

  Steadily she rose, planting her sword in the ground and using it to stand up. Like Anders her legs were trembling though he suspected it was more from rage than pain.

  Or perhaps not- when she moved toward him he could see that she was limping.

  “Viscount-” He heard and frowned when he recognized the voice of Cullen. “Please, there is no need for you to do this alone. He is a powerful mage but he could be taken down easily-”

  “Silence,” she said, “I and I alone am capable of killing him. I do not need anyone's help to do so.” She glared at Anders as she said this, pulling her sword up again and gingerly setting her foot on the ground, determined as always.

  “Is that because you hate me or because you don't trust anyone else?” Anders asked. 

  He watched as her face contorted. Her mouth opened in a scream of rage. Her hand shot out and then-

  And then there was fire racing towards him. He dodged at the last moment, briefly dumbstruck by the realization of what Hawke truly was.

  She was a monster. A hypocrite. A  _ mage _ .

  She began to fling them at him, one after the other. Overhead lightning flashed again and he realized that her magic had been the one affecting the storm.

  “You,” he said, when she briefly stopped casting. She was standing in the middle of the courtyard, chest heaving, scorch marks all around her. He frowned, still trying to process the revelation of her magic.

  “You're a mage,” he said, voice more shocked than angry. “You're- You're like me, like Merrill- Like all those poor souls in the Circle- I don't  _ understand _ -”

  “You wouldn't,” she said with a sneer and, almost automatically, began to move around him. She seemed to have calmed but losing control over her magic had obviously unbalanced her a little. “ _ You  _ never saw any dangers to your magic. Even though you were an abomination. Even though Merrill is a blood mage and courts demons.

  “But I am not so foolish. I  _ know  _ the damage it does. It must be contained at all costs.”

  “But you- You lived outside the Circle-” He yelled, disbelief slowly turning into outrage. “You would have locked Merrill and I up- along with all of the other mages in Kirkwall- while being free yourself.”

  “I can control myself,” she tried to sneer again but it faltered a little as the magical storm above them thundered ominously. “Unlike  _ you _ .”

  “Was that control I just saw, when you flung a fireball at me and revealed yourself before most of Kirkwall?” Anders voice turned hoarse as he continued. “We could have been allies.  _ I could have helped you _ .”

  “No,” Hawke said, her sword dipping down for a brief moment, and Anders thought he might have seen genuine anguish on her face. “You couldn’t have. There is no help for people like you and me.”

\---

  A mage, he thought to himself. Hawke was a  _ mage _ . 

  He remembered all of the times they had stood side by side, battling blood mages and abominations. The satisfaction she had taken in putting them down.

  He had never even entertained the possibility of what she might be. And although he did not hate her for her magic, he found himself feeling as though he had been betrayed. 

  Slowly he looked up again, watching as her and Anders circled each other. Cullen was watching them as well, his expression confused and just a little fearful. Close by he saw Varric and Aveline, both of their faces aghast.

  He wondered if Varric had expected something like this, being a writer himself. His expression told Fenris that he had not.

  “You killed them,” Anders said, voice moving from wounded to enraged and then back again. “You killed the mages- You killed your own kind.”

  “They were never mine,” Hawke replied, sounding waspish and fatigued. Had the guilt, the secrecy kept her up at night? Was this why she had always seemed to hold him at arm’s length, even in their most intimate moments?

  He could not imagine it, how it must have eaten at her from the inside out.

  “They are yours!” Anders continued, “You had power and privilege and you used it to slaughter  **YOUR OWN KIND.** ”

  ---

  He could not control Justice forever, not with what he had just learned. And as Hawke moved to attack him again he finally let go. Instantly he felt power surge through him, felt the cracks appear in his skin as an unearthly light shone from within.

  “ **HYPOCRITE** ” they roared, and this time they did not wait for Hawke to come to them. 

  He brought his staff up and then twisted it to swipe at Hawke with the blade, barely missing her. They moved faster now, raining blow after blow down on the woman. She blocked most of them, taking a few slashes to her shoulders and one blow to her forearm that nearly caused her to drop her weapon.

  “Hypocrite,” she spat back at him, their faces coming almost intimately close as they fought each other. “You are the one who asks for mage freedom while hosting a demon inside your body. And yet I am the hypocrite.”

  “ **WE ARE NO DEMON,** ” the eerie reverberation that underlined most of Justice’s speech did not seem to affect Hawke at all. 

  “Spirits do not possess a host. Spirits do not destroy Chantries and murder innocent people. You are a monster, an abomination.”

  It was enough to throw them off and when Hawke brought her sword down again it bit right into the meat of Anders’ shoulder. The blue flickered out of his eyes as he involuntarily let out of a gasp of pain. Blood immediately began to soak his pauldrons but when Hawke raised her blade again he moved before she was able to injure him more.

  “I did what I had to do,” he said, voice low. “No one else was doing a damned thing.” 

  It was Hawke this time who advanced on him, sword held menacingly before her. 

  “You should have died with them then, if you wished so badly to be the martyr,” she said, “Do you think that the mages thanked you, when I came for them? They all died for your cause- Every last man, woman and child in that Circle.”

  “You are the monster,” he said, “I-” And yet he still felt the truth of her words. If he had stayed behind to protect the mages in the Circle- If he had tried to free them before exploding the Chantry-

  He gave her a grim smile, “I suppose we are both monsters then. How fitting that we should be the end of each other.”

  Hawke frowned, about to retort, when suddenly Anders raised his hand and called down lightning upon her. She danced out of the way, barely avoiding being hit by one of the stray bolts. Though he still held his staff he was now using it to cast, bringing down lightning and fire on her.

  Pulling from somewhere deep within her Hawke drew a rudimentary barrier around herself. It caught one of Anders’ fireballs, extinguishing it, only to crumble as another one hit it.

  She growled and moved forward, conjuring ice and sending it in Anders’ direction only to watch as it crashed against one of the buildings surrounding them, taking out part of the wall.

  “Dammit,” she muttered before turning her attention back to Anders. This time when she pulled on the fade to produce a dangerous looking icicle it did not miss him.

  Quickly Anders sent up a fireball, melting it, and then turned to shoot several arcane bolts at Hawke. Two of them caught her shoulders and she staggered back slightly before shaking her head and moving forward again.

  As the two mages danced around one another they continued to hurl their spells at each other, each hit growing stronger than the last. It was beautiful and deadly and awe-inspiring, all the things that at once captivated and terrified people about magic.

  But overhead the storm churned and raged, growing stronger and stronger. Lightning, no longer controlled by Anders or Hawke, erupted randomly, striking the buildings around them and causing destruction. Fire erupted from the strikes hit piles of dry kindling or other debris. Below them the ground trembled and groaned with the terrible power of the two people fighting each other.

  “You can’t keep this up forever,” Anders panted as Hawke tried to conjure another icicle to attack him with. “You’re obviously untrained- Either you’ll run out of mana or destroy the city with your carelessness.” Even fighting he had not been able to ignore the way that their magic, Hawke’s in particular, was affecting Kirkwall around them. She appeared to be completely inexperienced and more often than not her spells missed their targets or she conjured things that were slightly different than what she meant to.

  She was untrained but what made her even more dangerous was her anger. It took the incredible power inside of her and made it loose, sloppy. Instead of focusing her attacks on Anders the way a trained mage would she was simply trying to attack, exerting her will in a particular direction.

  “I will fight until neither of us are standing,” she snarled back, and then hurled another fireball at him, only to watch as it fizzled mid-air from lack of mana to carry the spell through.

   She was weak and tired, her body and mind completely unused to the demands that spell casting had wrought on them. But she would not fall. She would not fail.

  Drawing her sword again she prepared herself to attack. They were both bloodied and bruised from their fighting and every time Anders tried to lift his arm where she had wounded him she could see the pain that wracked his face. They were burned too from the copious amounts of elemental magic, his robes and her armor singed slightly. 

  As if in mimicry Anders flipped his staff so that the bladed portion looked at her. It appeared that he was ready to finish this too.

  Hawke forced herself to smile, though she did not really feel it. “Anders,” she said, using his name for the first time in a long time. “I am going to enjoy killing you in front of Fenris.”

  It had the desired effect as Anders was visibly thrown off his guard. Hawke took the chance to rush him, bringing her sword down against his stave with all her might. She pushed against him, sending him back, only for Anders to spin and then swipe at her with his stave. It almost caught her but she dodged at the last moment.

  “I know how he betrayed me,” she said, “I will kill him, after I kill you.”

  Anders forced himself to keep his eyes on Hawke. He had seen Fenris standing at the edge of the courtyard, watching them, but had so far said nothing. A part of him must have hoped that Hawke would ignore him or simply not see the elf. How foolish he had been.

  “He was not involved in my plans, you know this as well as I.” 

  “He saved you,” she spat, “Everything after that was just more treachery.”

  There were many things he wished to say in response but he held his tongue. He was not going to waste his energy bantering with Hawke. Instead he moved forward again, more intent than he had been before.

  He was going to kill Hawke, for what she had done to the mages.

  He was going to kill Hawke, to protect Fenris.

  Just as Hawke raised her sword he ducked a little and moved his stave forward with the blade out, almost like a spear.

  Above them the heavens rumbled, and then erupted into a torrent of rain and lightning.

\---

  It did not occur in slow motion. He was a man who had seen violence innumerable times and never once had time seemed to slow for it. 

  They stood within arms reach of each other. Far too close. Almost clinically his mind watched the two fighters. 

  A lightning flash hit close, destroying the side of a building and sending brick and other shrapnel spraying. But it did not draw his attention, not as he watched the final strokes of the battle.

  Hawke brought her sword down and then forward, just as Anders made a similar motion with his stave.

  Fenris watched- Watched as Anders sent the blade of his stave into the side of Hawke’s chest where there was a gap in her armor. Watched as Hawke impaled Anders through the stomach with her sword.

\---

  “You can have me,” Anders said, looking into Hawke’s eyes, “But you cannot have him. You will not have anyone else.”

  The pain was indescribable. He had experienced horrors that would have broken a lesser man and still this was almost beyond his capacity. 

  When Hawke spoke her teeth were bloodied and her face was pale. He knew he must look similar. 

  “I’ve killed you. That’s all that matters.”

  The rain grew heavier, pelting them with cold water. It mixed with the blood that now poured from the both of them, sluicing down their skin and dripping onto the cobblestones below them.

  It was no surprise to either of them that it had come to this. From the beginning they had been at odds with each other, using each other as they saw fit but knowing that, someday, they would collide.

  What happened, when an unstoppable force met an immovable object? 

  Anders opened his mouth to say something and felt himself choke on the blood at the back of his throat. He had watched so many people die, knew how painful of a process it was. 

  “Fool,” Hawke rasped, no better off than him. “There is no victory in being a martyr.”

  Anders smiled a little, though it hurt terribly. “I am going to remove my stave and you are going to withdraw your sword.”

  “I am not afraid to die,” Hawke said.

  “Liar,” Anders returned. Everyone was, at the core of them. 

  He realized it was the last time he would irritate her. It was almost funny, in a way. 

  She readjusted her grip on her sword and, just as Anders jerked his stave back, pulled. 

\---

  Isabela could not stop him. There was nothing in this world, or beyond it, that could keep him from rushing to the middle of the courtyard as he watched Anders and Hawke collapse. 

  Why had he stood there? Why had he not stopped them?

  He fell to his knees on the wet cobblestones, his leggings beginning to soak with rainwater and blood. Above him the lightning seemed to have stopped but the rain continued on.

  “Anders-” He said, “Hawke-  _ Anders- _ ” 

  They lay facing each other, eyes dull and unblinking. Some of Anders hair clung against the side of his face and, almost automatically, Fenris moved to push it back.

  Cold, already so cold. Rainwater dripping off his nose and onto the ground below him. Anders, or rather the body of Anders, just stared on uncaring.

  He watched as another raindrop collected at the tip of his nose and then fell to the ground.

  He felt his heart, his soul, his mind, cleave in two.

  “No,” he said, and, then with more force, “No-”

  His voice warbled, broke, and then erupted into a wail.

  “No-  _ Nonononono _ -” 

  Anders, the man he loved, was dead.

  Hawke, his first friend, was dead.

  And Fenris, Fenris was a broken man.

  His wail turned into sobs that wracked his body, shaking it as he screamed and raged. He had never felt grief this acutely, had never felt it take hold of him like this.

  He felt it in every muscle, every bone, right down to his marrow. The bitter taste in his mouth, like ashes. The twisting of his heart and gut as if he, too, had been run through with a sword.

  “Maker-” he heard someone say distantly, and could not help the sound of rage that escaped from his mouth.

  What Maker was there that would see him born into slavery and then take everything from him that he held dear?

  He had wanted so little from life. The right to be a free man. To love who he loved. 

  And still he was to have none of it. The rain pelted him and he did not feel it. Hands grasped his shoulders and he shook them off.

  “ _ No _ ,” he rasped. Before his eyes he watched as someone moved towards Anders’ body and without thought he flung himself onto it, grasping onto it and refusing to let go.

  “Fenris-” It was Aveline, her voice stern but not unkind. He did not care, he hated her, hated everyone at that moment, most of all himself. 

  They were both dead and he was alive and that alone was too much for him to bear. 

  “Don’t you touch him-” He heard the sound of swords half-unsheathed, knew that it was Isabela speaking this time. 

  “We need the body,” Cullen, his voice hard. “Do you honestly expect us not to watch it very closely given what happened last time?”

  Isabela gestured to him, to the way he clung to Anders’ his face buried in his chest. “You think he’s acting that? Don’t be a fucking ass.”

  They all stood around him, talking as if he were not there. As if Anders and Hawke were not dead, his whole world destroyed.

  Anger shot through him and suddenly he stood, causing several people to step back. 

  “You will desecrate the body,” Fenris said, staring at Cullen who looked back at him uneasily.

  “No,” he replied, “We will cremate it- I- Please do not make this any harder than it is.”

  Fenris wanted to spit in his face. Wanted to physically hurt him for the comment.

  “Fine,” he rasped, “It is only his body.”

  The Anders he had loved was gone. There would be no returning to life, no running away to Antiva this time.

  He was gone and there was not a thing that Fenris could do about it. He could continue to pound the cobblestones, could cry and scream, but none of it would help. None of it would bring Anders or Hawke back, or repair the damage that had been done to his heart.

  When someone took his arm again he let them, suddenly feeling unable to resist. Fighting was a hollow thing. It would bring him nothing.

  He had nothing left.

 


	27. Chapter 27

  When Anders opened his eyes again it was to find cloth wrapped tightly around his face. His first instinct was to panic at the way it impeded his breathing and cut off his vision but he quickly reined his emotions in, forcing himself to lie completely still upon the cold table he now found himself lying upon. 

  He ached all over, his body feeling as though he’d gone face to face with a dragon, alone. His second instinct was to use magic to check himself over but he resisted that as well. If he could make a guess someone had wrapped him up, believing him to be dead. And if the memories slowly forming in his mind were anything to go on he wanted things to stay that way.

  Hawke’s face, the blood that stained her teeth. The way her lips curled back in a sneer.

_  “I am not afraid to die.” _

  Anders closed his eyes, though with the cloth it made little difference. He couldn’t see anything, anyway. His ears strained for any noise, any clue as to where he was. Outside the room he was in he thought he could hear the clanking of armored boots and vague, unfocused chatter but neither clue helped much.

  He was almost certainly still in Kirkwall at least. He had killed Hawke and, though his chest still felt hollow, avenged the mages. They had taken his body and laid it out, likely so that they could prepare him for cremation.

  At that he felt a chill run up his spine. Justice had obviously interfered to keep him from dying much as he had when he had run from the Wardens but there was only so much the spirit could do if he was doused in oil and set on fire.

  Outside the room the sound of clanking feet grew closer, drawing him from his thoughts, and Anders forced himself to lie as still as he possibly could. The voices became more distinct and he thought he could-

  The door to the tiny room opened and Anders found himself suddenly unable to breathe. Lucky, given that he was supposed to be a corpse.

  “Give us a few moments.” It was the voice of Aveline, sounding as though she had not slept in years.

  “Of course, Viscount,” Anders didn’t recognize this voice but it came from the side of the door and he realized it must have been a guard meant to keep his body from being stolen or desecrated. 

  Or taken away to Antiva, he thought a little bitterly.

  “Just Captain, please,” Aveline returned and then she and whoever she was with entered the room and closed the door behind them.

  There was a very long pause until Anders heard the sound of bare feet moving towards him. He knew who it was without him even having to speak, could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His presence alone was enough but Anders could  _ feel  _ the way his hand reached out over his body, so tentatively.

  “You may uncover him,” Aveline murmured. She didn’t sound disapproving which was surprising to Anders. Perhaps it was empathy, an understanding of the kind of grief that Fenris was experiencing.

  It was painful to just lie there, knowing how much he was hurting Fenris. It was almost worse than being gored by Hawke’s blade, in some ways.

  “I do not know that I wish to see him like this,” it was Fenris’ voice and this time Anders could not stop the tears that escaped from beneath his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in fat droplets. “It has been a few days.”

  “They will cremate him tomorrow,” Aveline said, and then, not unkindly, “This may be your last chance.”

  Silence on Fenris’ end. Anders suspected he was mulling over his words very carefully, in that way of his. 

  “May I… Have a few minutes alone?” 

  Aveline sighed but acquiesced. “Yes.” 

  “Thank you, Aveline, I know that I-”

  “Do not mention it to anyone else. I will return in a few minutes.”

  Anders listened as the door opened and then closed once more, and then he was alone with Fenris. For a long moment there was silence, Fenris still refusing to touch him or his body. Anders wasn’t quite sure how to reveal to him that he was still very much alive and remained motionless beneath the sheets.

  And then Fenris laid a hand over where Anders’ hands were crossed over his chest.

  “ _ Na via lerno victoria _ .” He whispered, voice choked by emotion, “And you are no longer living.”

  Anders could feel his hand move as if to leave and, unable to control himself, his own hand twitched in response.

  It was enough to get Fenris to stop and Anders twitched his hand again.

  “No,” Fenris whispered and then suddenly Anders felt the cloth wrapped around him torn away, his body hauled up by the shoulders. 

  It took him a moment but finally Anders opened his eyes, staring into the face of the man he loved.

  “Hello,” he said, his voice hoarse and weak despite himself. “Fancy meeting you here.” He tried to smile, to appear jovial, but he was still in incredible pain from all that had happened and it came out as more of a grimace.

  Fenris stared at him, mouth dropped open slightly. And then he dropped Anders.

  The mage ‘oofed’ as he hit the table, forcing himself to remain quiet despite the way that more pain shot through his body. There was no telling when Aveline would be back, or who might be drawn by the sound of voices inside.

  “Blood magic,” Fenris hissed, backing away slightly and looking as if he would draw his sword at any moment.

  “No,” Anders said weakly, “Justice.” 

  “I saw you die,” Fenris said and though he did not want to Anders could see what that had done to him, written in every line of his face, every facet of his voice.

  He had hurt him, irrevocably. 

  “I know,” Anders replied, “But please, believe me, I am- I am alive. And I need to get out of here before they can finish the job by cremating me. Justice- He’s a spirit. He has abilities even beyond what I have and he healed me. But he cannot save me from that.”

  Fenris just stared at him, obviously torn between his suspicion and the hope that this was somehow all real. Anders watched as his shoulders finally slumped, his face falling.

  “I will return tonight,” he said, still watching Anders warily. “I will bring clothing and a pack. And we will leave Kirkwall.” His eyes hardened once more, his mouth a thin line on his face. “ _ And we will not return _ .”

  Anders nodded, his chest tight. There was so much explaining to do, so much that lay unspoken between them. He wanted to wrap his arms around Fenris, to apologize until his mouth ran dry, to tell him that he loved him and-

  The sound of footsteps began to near and Fenris shot him a glance. “Aveline,” he said, “I must-” his face twisted into a grimace, one that Anders knew he was wearing as well. 

  But instead of protesting he laid back down and folded his arms over his chest again. It was uncomfortable and more than a little disturbing, but Anders was able to console himself with the knowledge that it would only be temporary.

  Fenris moved to step over him once more, slowly beginning to rewrap his body. The footsteps were moving closer, and just before Fenris pulled the cloth back over Anders’ face he whispered an apology. 

  The door opened and Fenris stepped back. Beneath the fabric Anders stilled once more, evening his breath out.

  “Fenris,” it was Aveline again. “I…”

  “I am ready,” Fenris replied, “Thank you, for giving me that moment.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You are welcome to come tomorrow, to the ceremony. No one…”

  “Thank you,” and Anders knew the expression on his face without being able to see it. “But I… This was my goodbye.”

  He meant it for Aveline, not him. Anders had never particularly liked the woman but he knew that they were good friends and his heart ached a little. 

  “You have been a better friend than I deserve,” Fenris said, and Aveline snorted a little in response. 

  “You are too kind,” she said, voice soft. “Let us go- Donnic has… Missed you as well. It will make us both very happy to have you in our home.”

  “Perhaps,” Fenris said, and Anders could feel his gaze lingering on him. Their plans were vague and hastily made, but he knew that the elf would return tonight, as soon as it was safe.

  Both moved to leave, shutting the door behind them, and Anders heaved in another deep breath.

  The cloth around his felt suffocating and it made the room appear much darker than it really was but still he did not move. Though there was no guard inside the room he could not risk the possibility of other people visiting him. And so he laid there, fighting his anxiety, the creeping hand of claustrophobia that threatened to choke him.

  Fenris would come. Anders could trust in that, and this time he drew on that faith to remain strong.

 

\---

 

  He had dozed off somehow, his body likely still needing to heal from all he had gone through. Justice had kept him alive and healed the wound to his stomach, but he wasn’t a miracle worker, or even much of a healer. The ugly scar on his chest would no doubt be joined by another one on his stomach, just as grotesque as the first.

 The doorknob turned and he realized that he had been awoken- Someone was trying to get into the room possibly to-

  He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm. It could be someone coming to mutilate his corpse or it could be Fenris. Maker, he hoped it was Fenris. 

  The creak from the door opening seemed overly loud in the small room and he winced. Whoever had entered the room had not brought a light with them, suggesting that they were trying to be stealthy, and let out a low curse at the noise.

  “ _ Fasta vass _ ,” he heard, very quietly, and felt like weeping. 

  Still he waited until the cloth was removed from his person to open his eyes. He could see very little, being a human, but the hands that gripped his shoulders were as familiar as the voice that spoke again. 

  “Dress yourself, quickly. We have very little time.”

  “Fenris,” he said, his voice hoarse. He knew he ought to start moving but for a long moment he just sat there. “You returned.”

  “Did you think I would not?” 

  Anders didn’t say anything. He trusted Fenris, knew that he was an honest man. But a part of him had almost expected him to finally decide that he wasn’t worth the trouble.

  “I’m just… Glad.” He murmured. For a moment Fenris paused, seeming to look at him. 

  He squeezed his shoulders and quietly said, “Come, then.”

  Anders nodded, pulling away from Fenris and then throwing the rest of the sheets from his body. He grasped the bundle of clothing that Fenris handed him- nondescript pants, a tunic, a cloak and boots- and quickly dressed. Once finished he moved to stand up, only to almost immediately fall over. 

  “Shit,” he muttered as Fenris caught him. His head spun and although he had had nothing in his stomach for days he still felt like vomiting. 

  “Careful,” Fenris muttered, and behind him Anders heard another voice murmur, “Here, help me lift the body up.”

  Blinking owlishly he saw a flash of gold jewelry and listened as a lilting Antivan accent grumbled, “Could we not have found someone lighter? Anders is not so heavy, I am certain.”

  Anders turned to look at Fenris who, almost sheepishly, whispered, “I am learning that I need help, from time to time.” 

  Slowly he nodded, still feeling a little out of sorts. Stepping back he watched in the almost near-darkness of the room as Isabela and Zevran placed a body on the table and then began to wrap it. His first thought was to wonder where in the world they had found a body and then decided that he really, really did not want to know.

  When it was done Fenris turned towards him again, pulling his hood up over his head and grasping his hands. 

  “We will leave Kirkwall tonight. Isabela is allowing us to come with her on her ship again- From there we will decide where to go.” 

  Anders nodded, still feeling a little too disoriented to respond. But then Fenris squeezed his hands, his grip firm, and Anders felt himself settle a little.

  “Please,” he said, “I cannot wait to be gone from here.”

 

\---

 

  The journey to Isabela’s ship was both terrifying and mundane. They skulked through the streets of Kirkwall, avoiding any form of life, until finally they made it to the docks.

  There sat Isabela’s ship, waiting as loyally as any mabari. Gently it bobbed in the water, tugging slightly at its moorings but with no real intent as the water splashed around it.

  Isabela was the first to say something, turning to Zevran and asking, “Are you certain you don't want to come back east with us?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but my journey will carry me west.”

  She nodded and though she did not hug him her farewell was warm. Merrill’s was as well, and came with a promise to write him more stories about their people.

  This left the three men standing at the docks, Zevran quietly amused, Anders swaying on his feet, and Fenris grim faced.

  Finally Fenris spoke up. “Thank you, Zevran, for all of your help. It was…”

  “Charming? Very suave?”

  “Useful,” Fenris replied, and though his tone was firm there was the ghost of a smile on his face. “And appreciated.”

  “Of course- This has been quite the adventure.”

  It was Anders turn now to shift a little awkwardly and say something.

  “Please… Apologize to Surana for me. I did not leave the Wardens under the best of terms.”

  Zevran hummed a little, and then nodded. “She was angry about that, you know, for some time.”

  Anders winced, though he did not argue.

  “Some of it was at you, for just leaving. A lot of it was at herself, for not protecting you from the Templars better.” He looked up to the moon which hung lazily overhead and paused for a moment. “She will be glad to know that you are alive and... Safe.”

  “Thank you,” Anders said, with feeling. “And thank you for all you have done.”

  Zevran shrugged, “I wished to pay for my passage somehow. And as I said- It was quite exciting, all of this.”

  Fenris and Anders exchanged a brief look. ‘Exciting’ wasn’t exactly how they would describe all that they had gone through in the last few months. But before they could say anything in response Isabela was leaning over the bow and motioning at them impatiently.

  “Ah, I would go. Isabela is the type of woman to decide you are not worth the trouble of waiting.”

  “Safe travels,” Fenris said, and grasped Anders arm.

  “Thank you again,” he said, allowing Fenris to pull him up the gangplank. They had lingered too long as it was. He may have escaped the small room he had been imprisoned in but he was not free of Kirkwall yet.

  “About time,” Isabela muttered as they stepped onto the ship before walking away and beginning to direct her crew. They made short work of the gangplank and began to hoist the anchor and before long the ship was gently edging out of the harbor.

  The two men stood at the stern, watching quietly as they moved farther and farther away from Kirkwall. On the docks Zevran remained, ever diminishing, until finally he disappeared from sight entirely. It was almost surreal to think that they were both leaving of their free will and would almost certainly never return.

  “Where are we going?” Anders asked as they finally made it outside of where the massive chain net might catch them. 

  “Wherever Isabela is gracious enough to take us.”

  Anders slid a look at Fenris before quickly looking away again. He was exhausted, physically, but his mind refused to be quiet.

  Where were  _ they  _ going? Was there even a they? Or had Fenris only rescued him out of some sense of obligation? Anders had run from him, again. He could not blame the elf for deciding that he was too much trouble finally.

  “You should sleep,” Fenris said, as if sensing his wandering thoughts. 

  Would he join Anders later?

  But he could not ask any of those questions, not yet anyway. He suspected that Fenris needed some time to think alone and he would give him that.

  “Of course,” he said, and then he turned away and began to head towards the underdeck, ignoring the eyes that followed him there.

 

\---

 

  He remembered sitting in Merrill’s house in the days afterwards,  a cup of steaming tea sitting in front of him. Someone had placed a blanket over his shoulders but no one had touched him otherwise.

  The tea had stopped steaming after a little while. Eventually he had lifted up the cup and taken a sip, uncaring that it was now tepid and bitter from steeping too long. He had looked down at the mug, chipped and worn looking, and had thought of sharing tea with Anders. 

  He hadn't cried. After being dragged away from the body he had gone somewhere deep inside of himself. The place that he had always gone when he had been a slave and had been forced to guard his emotions so closely. 

  Fenris had been offered food and rest, and cup after cup of steaming tea. He ignored most of it, just sitting at Merrill’s kitchen table for hours on end. He suspected that Isabela began to slip whiskey into the tea because at some point he remembered becoming very drowsy and finally passing out. A miracle, that woman.

  Originally he had not wanted to see the body. He had seen too many of the dead to believe that it would make him feel better. All it would do was taint the few memories he had of Anders, his face pallid and cold instead of warm and soft. 

  Watching his fall had been bad enough and Fenris knew that it would feature in his nightmares for years to come.

  It was Aveline who had eventually convinced him. She was the only one of them who knew what it was like to lose a partner in that way and so he had listened to her advice and gone to see the body. 

  He had often thought of the Maker as being ignorant to his pleas. And though He had taken much from Fenris, he could not help but be thankful for what he had been given back.

  He still did not know if Anders would stay with him, but he was alive and that was something.

 

\---

 

  The sense of deja vu hit him again and again as he meandered around the ship. It was so completely unlike the first time he had taken this journey, and yet so much had remained the same. He still did not know what lay ahead of him, and the uncertainty was more than a little terrifying. And though Justice had healed his physical wounds he still felt painful and raw. The fact that Justice’s presence seemed to have disappeared again was all the worse.

  Anders reminded himself that Justice was not in fact gone, merely sleeping or… Whatever it was that the spirit did when he receded from his thoughts. Perhaps it was even a good thing, for the spirit to finally be able to rest. But Anders head continued to be far too quiet, and instinctively he would find himself reaching for the spirit only to feel nothing in return.

  Waking up to find himself alone in his bed was even worse and yet a part of him had known that it would be this way. When he and Fenris had come together the last time it had not been because any great healing had occurred between them. Rather it had been out of desperation, out of a sense of shared history. It didn’t sting any less and he reminded himself that he had his life, at least, but it all rang hollow.

  He stood at the bow now, watching the water as it parted easily before the ship. Today had been a good sailing day, with strong winds and relatively clear skies, and the boat was moving quickly and gracefully over the sea. He still had not asked where they were going, not sure that it mattered much in the end.

  “Copper for your thoughts.” The voice came from his side and he turned, perhaps a little too quickly, to look at the man who had spoken to him.

  He was not wearing his armor, just a simple tunic and pair of leggings. It felt as if it had been a very long time since Anders had seen him without them on. His hair was a little longer too but then Anders supposed that there hadn’t been a lot of time for hair cutting in the past few months. He only realized he was staring when Fenris raised an eyebrow at him as his question went unanswered.

  “I… Uh-” Anders paused and frowned. He knew what he had been thinking. It was relaying all of that to Fenris that was the problem. Slowly he turned forward again, bracing his arms on the railing. “Sorry, I’m a little out of sorts.”

  “Is Justice…” Fenris’ voice was soft as he asked the question.

  “Quiet. Silent, actually.” Anders shifted and then sighed. “Fenris I wanted… I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

 “For? There’s a lot of ground to cover.” 

  Anders turned back to look at him with narrowed eyes, only to see Fenris smiling very gently as him. He snorted and then looked away.

  “I… Ran from you. Again. And again. The things I put you through… It’s unforgivable.”

  Fenris hummed for a moment in thought before moving to stand at the railing beside Anders. 

  “If it were so unforgivable, as you seem to believe, would I be standing here, next to you, now?”

  “You haven’t come back to my bed,” Anders shot back, even though he knew it was wrong. Fenris was under no obligation to touch him ever again, especially given all that he had done for Anders.

  “I thought that you might need space.” The elf turned to look at him, face carefully neutral. “You… Did not want space?”

  “I wanted…” He sighed and turned away again. “Sorry, that was unfair. You… You should be angry with me, you know.”

  “And yet, I am not.”

  Anders raised an eyebrow at him, “Really? The man who once threw a bottle at his mantle and broke some priceless vase because I won a round of Diamondback is not angry?”

  “I had imbibed too much that night,” Fenris said, tone dainty. “And… I found I could not be angry at you, not when I realized that you were back, alive.” Sighing he continued, “I was very angry when I thought that you… When you  _ did  _ die. I was angry at the universe, the Maker, and yes, you, for leaving me.

  “But then I felt your hand twitch. Then I realized that you were not dead. And the joy I felt- It obliterated any other emotion I had felt up until that point. The sense of grief and of loss, of confusion and rage- All of it transformed into something far greater.”

  Anders was silent, staring at him with wide eyes as he finished. He blinked rapidly and it was only after looking away and clearing his throat that he managed to speak again.

  “If you will have me… Maker, I want to give you more of that. More of that joy. Of that…” He struggled with the words. “I was not lying. I love you. I have loved you. For so long.”

  It was only when he felt a hand tentatively grasp his that he looked back at Fenris.

  “I will have you,” Fenris said, voice quiet and eyes sincere. “You have wandered, as have I. But so long as we come back to each other… So long as you will have me…”

  “Could I not?” Anders asked, trying to laugh a little to cover up the tears that welled in his eyes and only partially succeeding. “Of course I will.”

  “Good,” Fenris said softly. He looked back out onto the water, then, though his hand did not stray from Anders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my defense i want to say that this isn't a deus ex machina so much as canon buuut...  
> it is definitely a deus ex mahina (or deux ex justice, if you prefer)
> 
> after this chapter will be the epilogue!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To say that this took longer to get out than expected would be a bad punchline to a long running joke.  
> I really wanted to end this story well, and I hope you guys enjoy it. I know the epilogue meanders quite a bit but after everything I wanted to give the boys some humor and some sweetness.
> 
> The song as the end is "Estoy Enamorado" of which there are many versions.
> 
> Beatrice is based off of my real cat and she is just as fat and chill IRL. 
> 
> Also, from the bottom of my heart I want to express thanks for all of the kind comments people have left me. This story was supposed to be short, under 10k at least, and instead it became the longest work (fanfic or original) that I've ever written. It took me a long time, but I'm glad for everyone that undertook this journey with me.   
> I wish you all the best, and hope you enjoy this last chapter.

Isabela dropped them onto a thin stretch of beach which looked desolate but which, according to her maps, was only a few days hike from Salle and not much farther back to Rialto. Neither man had explicitly agreed to return to the city but somehow it seemed right. Antiva was reasonably far from Kirkwall and the madness which seemed to have spread as Circle after Circle fell. And besides, it held… Sentimental value to them both. Memories that were more fond than painful, a rare thing for them both.  

  She gave each of them packs full of food, water, a tent and some money. And though he protested she gave Fenris a perhaps overly enthusiastic hug. Anders did not protest hers but when Merrill wrapped her arms around him, her thin arms holding surprising strength, he gasped a little. She let go and though she smiled ruefully at Fenris she was smart enough not to repeat the gesture with him.

  “Well,” Isabela said as all four stood on the beach, “I suppose this is good-bye.”

  “For now,” Anders said, though he knew it unlikely they would ever see each other again. But as he cast a stray glance at Fenris he reminded himself that far, far stranger things had happened.

  “Thank you, Isabela… And Merrill,” Fenris said, inclining his head to them both. “Words cannot express our gratitude.”

  “Actions, on the other hand…” Isabela replied, waggling her eyebrows and earning a laugh from everyone. Though Anders still carried much of his misery with him, like the bandages wrapped around his leg, some of it seemed to have eased. And Fenris, standing beneath the open sky with him at his side, actually chuckled. 

  They stood there for a few moments longer, none of them wanting to be the first to step away. Finally, however, Isabela swung her arm around Merrill and turned them back towards the ship. Merrill turned her head back in order to wave again and wish them good luck and both Anders and Fenris stood watching her with some amusement.

  The men continued to stand there as the anchor was pulled up again and the ship was slowly rowed away, until they could barely make out the image of the white sails against the unrelenting blue of the sky. Though they planned to walk to the closest city both knew that they had more than enough time in which to do it. 

  Finally, as the sun began to dip lower and lower in the sky, they turned away from the ocean and back to the beach. 

  “In a few hours it will be nightfall,” Fenris said, eyeing the swollen sun as it continued to sink. “Perhaps we should set up camp here, for the evening, and continue in the morning.”

  “That sounds good,” Anders said, feeling suddenly deflated by Isabela and Merrill’s departure. “I gather firewood and set that up, you get the tent together?”

  “Agreed,” Fenris said, unshouldering his pack and letting it drop into the sand. It was a motion that Anders had seen him make tens, perhaps even hundreds of times over the years. He could not help but smile a little at the familiarity of it, at the fact that he would get to see it again, and again. The day was ending but the months and the years seemed to stretch before them infinitely.

  ---

  Sometimes they spoke and sometimes they fell silent, the walking long and at times arduous. They traded stories, their histories, both good and bad. In some ways it was like those nights spent on the rooftop of their apartment in Rialto, the nights after the card games in Fenris’ mansion. But every so often they would stumble upon something- Some grievance or fault. And instead of skirting aside it, they tried to… Talk about it.

  It wasn’t something either man was particularly good at. In all honestly they were both a little terrible at it. But they tried. After all, there was no mansion to run away from. No apartment bedroom to hide in. They only had each other now, for better or worse.

  They spoke of the night that Fenris returned to Hawke.

  They spoke of all the times that Anders had looked down on Fenris, calling him a dog or worse.

  Every time that Fenris had called him an abomination.

  The things that Anders had spat at him, after leaving Kirkwall.

  And Hawke, of course. They could not move forward, not truly, until they had spoken of her. Those conversations were particularly bad but, like debriding a wound, necessary.

  Whenever they stopped to break fast or set up camp they would set aside these topics by mutual agreement. It was one thing to finally have these things out in the open but both men needed a break on occasion, lest they become too raw.

  And although there were things, some years long in the making, that had come to the surface their journey was not entirely unpleasant. It was impossible, for they were trekking through some of the most beautiful countryside in Thedas.

  The sandy beaches had given way to scrub grass and knobbly hills which gave way to occasional patches of forest and rich farmland. Every so often the coastline would turn sharp and craggy and on occasion they would stop just to stare out onto the ocean, gulls screaming overhead. Silently they would sit together, in quiet wonder at the great sea which lay before them. The sea in Kirkwall had been grey and bitter with salt and fishrot. The breezes were few and far between, and were more likely to dampen a house than freshen.

  But the sea off of Antiva- That was something to behold. A blue unlike anything they had ever seen, the water glittering beneath the sun. It was hot, often, but all they would have to do was move closer to shore where the wind kept them pleasantly cool. It was fresh there too and at times breathing felt more like being cleansed. 

  Fenris thought of Anders’ letter often during these moments. They had passed through Salle and Rialto was not far away, but it seemed less and less appealing with each passing day. Though they had both been city dwellers for the past decade Fenris was mindful of Anders’ upbringing. And, even more than that, there was something about the quiet and remoteness of the Antivan countryside that attracted him.

  One night as they lay camped at the outer edges of an orchard he turned to Anders, watching him for a moment. The nights had become too warm for a tent and often as not they just laid out their bedrolls and slept on them, leaving a small fire to burn beside them in order to scare off predators or other animals. That evening Anders seemed lost in thought, staring out into the darkness with a small furrow between his brow. 

  “Anders,” he said, voice quiet, “I have been thinking.”

  The other man twitched and then turned to him, a crooked smile on his face. “Sorry… Yes? About?”

  “We have been walking towards Rialto for some time now…”

  “Yes,” Anders said, “I… It will be interesting, to return there.” Fenris watched him intently but could not determine if he was just nervous or genuinely did not want to go.

  Deciding to try another tactic he said, “That letter you left me. Before you…”

  “Oh, yes, that,”Anders looked away from him, red staining his cheeks faintly. “What about it?”

  “I was thinking that, perhaps, you gave good advice. About living by the sea.”

  Anders was watching him now, eyebrows arched. 

  “Of course you would be with me but… But perhaps it would be enjoyable. For a little while.”

  Anders looked away, chewing at his lower lip. Finally he spoke. 

  “You hate fish.”

  Fenris blinked and then felt a slow smile steal over his face.

  “I do.”

  “And I mean, we've both been living in the city for so long. The quiet would probably drive us mad.”

  “Mm, most likely,” Fenris replied, feeling his lips twitch with mirth.

  “And I mean- It’d probably be some small fishing village. Probably they’d have some goats- Goats are terrible, Fenris and… What would we even  _ do _ ? Squatting isn’t usually an option in a place like that. Or sword fighting or healing.”

  “I disagree. A small town may be the best place for you to work.”

  “What?” Anders face held a pinched look of concern and suddenly all Fenris wanted to do was to move his hand up and soothe away the wrinkle between his eyes. “I can’t… I can never…”

  “You can,” Fenris said, as if it were that simple, “You will.” When Anderrs just continued to stare at him he sighed and continued. “You are a healer Anders. It is an important part of who you are, and I will not see you hide it out of fear.”

  “I am a fugitive,” he said, very quietly. “If anyone discovered who I was they would kill us both.” 

  “Tell me, were the denizens of Darktown not loyal to you?”

  “They… They  _ were _ . Not anymore, I’m sure.”

  Fenris suspected that there were many who still would have sheltered him, but knew that arguing about that with Anders was pointless. 

  “I suspect that you could find the same loyalty in such a town where you are not known. And even if some were to grow suspicious- Well, it would be too unbelievable. No one would accuse you of something that seemed so implausible.”

  Anders rolled away from him onto his back instead of responding. He looked up at the sky, frowning intently for what seemed like a long time. It seemed possible that he was arguing with Justice, but he didn’t have that far away look in his eyes, the one he had often worn in Kirkwall. 

  “...But you hate fish,” he said. “And we’d have to eat it often. It’d probably be half of what they eat there.”

  Fenris shrugged, “I have survived worse situations. A little fish will not kill me.”

  The silence stretched on even longer this time as Anders struggled to come up with another argument. Fenris for his part was content to lie there and watch him, knowing that he had already won.

  “Perhaps…” Anders started, “Perhaps it is something to try. But-” He finally turned back to Fenris, eyes deadly serious. “We leave at the first sign of trouble. I won’t risk anything happening to you because of me. And I don’t want to get too comfortable either.”

  Fenris snorted and replied, “Of course, I have not forgotten how to be a fugitive.”

  The edges of Anders’ lips twitched upward in a small smile and although he still wore a worried expression he scooted a little closer to Fenris. He waited until he was pressed against him, his nose buried in the crook of the elf’s neck to speak.

  “So… I gave good advice, huh?”

  “It was an idea. I would not look too much into it.” Fenris’ deadpan tone might even have worked, had he not been fighting a smile. And had Anders not been, very un-subtly, trying to move his knee between Fenris’ thighs.

  “And if I said I had another idea?” Anders moved his hand down to idly run across Fenris’ hip, listening for the hitch in his breath.

  “I am willing to listen. Perhaps even consider it.”

  Anders chuckled, finally slipping his hand under the fabric of Fenris’ tunic.

  They both agreed later that it had been a good idea indeed.

\---

  The first town they stumbled across was named Cadiz. They had skirted along the borders of several towns like it beforehand, always taking care with who they were seen by. Occasionally they had been forced to restock on supplies but they had always been quick to leave lest they be identified. 

  Cadiz was, in its own way, beautiful. Unfortunately the woman who ran the singular tavern in town refused to rent a room to Anders unless “he kept his elf in stables.”

  “He’s not my elf- I mean- He- We-” Although Anders was quick to argue Fenris had decided to take a step back and simply enjoy the scene unfolding before him. Anders, face lit up like a cherry tomato, arguing with a woman who seemed to be almost as stubborn as he was. The fact that he was arguing for his sake also helped soothe the irritation and disgust that Fenris felt with the woman.

  After a little while, and fearing that they might be literally chased out of town by a mob, Fenris grasped the hood on Anders’ cloak and began to drag the struggling man away. Anders was rather put out that he hadn’t won the argument, but when Fenris had asked whether he truly wanted to patronize such a bigoted woman he had fallen silent.

  Besides learning that Antiva was just as racist as the rest of Thedas, they had also discovered that Fenris could reliably pass for a Dalish elf. It had happened in Rialto before, but the assumption came from most of the other humans they spoke with. 

  This bothered Fenris, though he begrudgingly admitted that it could also work in their favor. After all, if anyone was searching for them it was as a mage and a Tevinter fugitive. Most looked at Fenris and saw neither, his complexion blending in well with most of the other Antivans they met. And given that it was on the other side of Thedas they were willing to bet that most were unfamiliar with the country anyway.   

  They moved through several towns, usually spending a few days in each, occasionally longer before deciding it was not quite right and moving on. Cadaques was not exactly on the coast but its proximity to several vineyards earned an enthusiastic vote from Fenris. This was withdrawn, however, when they discovered that the local Dalish clan occasionally came into town to trade. They had allowed the innkeeper and his wife to believe that Fenris belonged to this clan, only to realize that their lie would be caught sooner or later.

  It didn’t stop Fenris from tucking a few bottles into one of their packs. A way of replenishing necessary supplies, as he had put it.

  Segovia had a large population of stray cats but after Anders learned that the local children often chased and harassed them for sport Fenris had to talk him out of setting the town on fire. It was only when they had walked almost half a day away that he discovered that Anders had decided to take a souvenir of his own.

  They named her Beatrice, though the proper Antivan name would have been Beatriz. She was named after one of the senior mages that Anders had apprenticed under in the Circle of Kinloch, and whom he said reminded him of his mother. She was a tortoiseshell, fat and lazy but rather friendly. Fenris doubted that she would make much of a mouser, but she seemed to make Anders happy enough.

  And if he caught himself stroking through her fur and smiling when she began her rumbling purr, well, he told himself that it was good to have a pet that they both could enjoy.

\---   

  At first glance Girona was an unimpressive city. It was small, as many of these towns were, but it seemed almost bereft of people. Most of the homes looked as though they would have benefited from a fresh coat of paint and were often guarded by ill-kept, half-rotting fences. As they trod through the small road that led through the center of town they traded glances, silently agreeing that they would spend no more than a night, maybe two in the place. Beatrice cared very little where they travelled, her opinion too easily influenced by fish to be particularly reliable.

  The inn was small, the interior faded and a little grimy, like a well loved book. But the innkeeper did not give them a second glance and rented a room to them with a kindly smile. 

  They settled in well, Beatrice nimbly hopping out of Anders’ pack in order to seat herself in front of the fire as Anders got out his journal and Fenris set to sharpening his sword. It was quiet, companionable, as their nights had slowly started to become.

  Anders supposed that they were slowly getting used to one another in a way that they had never truly had a chance to. They might not have had a home to speak of but they had each other and they had Beatrice and that was enough for him. 

 He recorded all of this in his journal as well as his initial thoughts on the town, not sparing it more than one or two lines. After all, they would likely be away in another morning or two. Likely it would join all of the other cities they had traveled through in his memory- Or perhaps he would forget it entirely. 

\---

  The second day in Girona, as they were preparing to leave, Fenris came down the stairs to a disturbing noise. It was the muffled sobbing of a woman, coming from just beyond the doors to what he assumed was the inn keeper’s office or home. He froze, his ears twitching as he involuntarily listened, unsure of what else to do. Much to his relief the noise quieted down, only for him to be made much,  _ much  _ more uncomfortable when the innkeeper burst out of her office.

  She came to a dead stop, eyes red rimmed and face blotchy, simply staring at him. Fenris returned the stare, knowing better than to give her pity but unable to give her anything else.

  As if he had asked, even though he very well hadn’t, she said, “My son- He-” She hiccuped and pressed a hand to her mouth. “He’s b-been collapsing and I- I don’t know what to do- Our healer- The only one died a few months ago and we haven’t-” Slowly tears began to leak from her eyes again, rolling down her cheeks. “I’ve wanted to take him into the next town but it’s so far and we haven’t the m-money and-”

  Fenris thought of Anders, still taking his time packing up his things in the room directly above them. He knew that the mage was resistant to using his abilities and chance being found out, but he felt it worth the risk. He had no reason to believe that the woman was anything other than what she appeared: Desperate, helpless and guileless.

  “Stay here,” he said, “I will return with help.” The woman blinked at him rapidly, watching as he turned and began to ascend the stairs two at a time, only to return with the other man a few minutes later.

  “What-” the other man squawked, frowning as he was dragged along by the sleeve of his coat, “Is the matter with-” He turned and looked at the woman, stopping dead much as Fenris had earlier. 

  “Her son needs help,” Fenris said, and gently pushed him towards the woman. “You can help her.”

  Anders whipped his head around in order to stare at Fenris, expressions of shock and confusion warring with each other. He had always known that Fenris would tolerate his magic, at the very best. For him to encourage him to use it was still strange. 

  “No,” Anders said, his lips moving into a firm line. “You know why I can’t.”

  “Please-” The innkeeper move forward and grasped Anders’ hand, pulling his attention towards her. “I do not have much but I will do anything-  _ Anything _ \- If you can help my son.”

   Anders looked at her and Fenris watched as all of his resolve, his determination to hide, drained away. Face pinched he said, “I can. But you will not like what I must do.”

  “Will he live?”

  “Likely,” Anders said. If the boy was not mortally ill then there was a good chance that he could heal him using his magic.

  “Then that is all that matters,” the woman said, her expression boring into him. “Make him whole again and I will ask no questions and make no complaints.”

  Anders nodded, a grim smile on his face, “Do not speak so soon,” he said quietly, and then asked her to lead him to her son.

  Watching Anders heal the boy was a stark reminder to Fenris that, though he had been the man who had destroyed the Chantry of Kirkwall for one moment, he had been the healer of Darktown for ten years.

  He was professional and kind, doing his best to ease the innkeeper’s fears about her son. He listened calmly to her as she told him of her son’s ailments, and quietly asked the young child himself if he could examine him. Fenris watched, fascinated, as Anders laid the boy down on his back, his hands beginning to glow blue with healing energy.

  He observed the mother and boy carefully for their reactions. The innkeeper, for her part, said nothing, only watching intently as Anders moved his hands over the boy. The child stiffened but seemed to know better than to say anything, shutting his eyes and squeezing them tightly instead.

  Carefully, methodically, Anders move his hand up from the child’s abdomen, skimming over his chest and settling at the sides of his face. He hummed thoughtfully and then in a low voice said, “This is going to feel strange, but I promise I can make things better.”

  He waited until the boy nodded and then enveloped him in the blue light, his eyes focusing completely on the patient before him. The boy’s mother did not flinch away, much to her credit, but when it was all over let out a deep breath.

  “Is he-” she started, but did not finish the question.

  “I think he will be fine,” Anders muttered, clearly worn. “Likely this is something he would have grown out of as an adult, but wouldn’t want to risk it, now would be?” He shot her a tired smile and Fenris was unsurprised to see the woman surge over to Anders, wrapping him in a giant hug.

  “Thank you- Thank you thank you so much-” Anders wheezed a little as the woman squeezed him tightly and Fenris had to hide a smirk behind his hand as the mage sent him a beseeching look.

  “It’s alright- Really-” Anders said, able to breath a little bit better once the woman had released him. “It’s what I do.”

  “Please, I have to make this up to you- I- I don’t have much but-” She frowned for a moment before it brightened into a smile, “But the smith here owes me a favor. If you’re willing to stay for a few extra days- Rent free of course- I can make this up to you.”

  Anders was about to argue with her further when Fenris spoke up.

  “What would you have him make?”

  “A staff of course,” she replied, now a little more clear eyed. “I didn’t see you bring one in with you, and I know that that’s not the kind of thing you can just hide.”

  Dumbstruck Anders said, “You’re going to have a  _ staff  _ made for me? A mage?”

  “Well I wouldn’t have one made for a warrior,” the woman replied, giving Anders a strange look.

  The two men turned and looked at each other, suspicion warring with hope.

  “We will stay until then,” Fenris finally said, “My friend here would appreciate a new staff.” 

  The woman nodded, “Good, and once again, thank you.”

\---

  For three days Anders waited anxiously to be turned over to the Templars or whatever law happened to rule this area. With all that had happened he wasn’t sure there were even Templars left to arrest him but still the fear, instilled in him since he had been a little boy, remained.

  Fenris reassured him, at times gruffly and then other times gently, that he was unlikely to be given up. He had healed the woman’s son, and she was likely to be as loyal to him as any of the denizens of Darktown had been.

  And then two of the village’s fishermen nearly drowned and, after saving them both, they were promised a celebration. The town’s previous healer had died some months ago and, having been mundane, he had been helpless when it came to the more complicated or critical cases. The villagers did not just overlook Anders’ magic- They  _ welcomed  _ it.

  “It’s the strangest thing,” Anders muttered to Fenris. They were in the main room of the inn, enjoying large glasses of sweet red wine that had come from a local vineyard. Most of the village gathered there that night, carousing and drinking and dancing to the lone guitarman who sat in the corner. Though Fenris had turned his nose up at it Anders had happily taken the supply of fish that the two men they had saved provided them with. Beatrice, who had done very little, was nevertheless happy to share in their loot and she sat at Anders’ side, purring and chewing on the discarded head of a fish.

  “Does it bother you? I mean, them being so…”

  “No,” Fenris said, “Not anymore than the people of Darktown bothered me. You have helped them and they are grateful. There is nothing disturbing to me about that.” After a moment he continued, his voice softer, “I told you that you would have to come back to this. It is good that you did.”

  For a moment Anders watched him, something unfathomable flashing across his eyes. “We could stay here you know,” he said after a moment, “Those men were grateful to you too, you know- You helped me and the other villagers drag their bodies back to the village. And if there were any thieves in town or any predators that threatened the livestock- You’d be the best to put them down.”

  Fenris looked away and snorted, “I am no guardsman.”

  “Yes, and Aveline kept begging you for demonstrations out of pity.”

  “...She did not  _ beg _ .” Though the wench had tricked him into giving a display once before.

  Anders snorted, “Alright, no, Aveline never begged for anything. But you would have a place here too, I think. If you wanted to stay that was.”

  Fenders hummed and looked down into his wine. “It is as good a place as any. For now.”

  Anders smiled but this time it was softer and Fenris could not help but return it. The wine was good, the mood in the room festive, but he knew that he owed the warmth in his chest to other things.

  In the corner the guitarist began another song, his soft tenor filling the room as he strummed his instrument.

_ “Una nueva  _ _ mañana… Me levante pensando en… Todo las cosas lindas…” _

__ “Fenris,” Anders started, “I know you said you only do it in your mansion- Choreographing dance routines that is- But would you maybe- Ah-” He made wavering motions in the air with his hand, his eyes darting about as if he were nervous. Fenris raised an eyebrow, knowing what he was trying to ask but finding it unaccountably amusing the way that he floundered. Not a few hours before they had been tangled up in their bedsheets, skin to skin, and yet here he was afraid to ask him to  _ dance _ .

_ “Que hacemos hecho… Pensando en tu olor. En tu piel para mi lo eres todo-” _

__ “Yes,” he said finally, wishing to spare him any further torment. He was rewarded with a large grin from Anders, who immediately grasped his hand and pulled him away from the bench. Beatrice looked up from her fish head briefly before returning to, in her mind, more interesting things.

  Around them people hooted and cheered as they made their way to an open space on the floor that had been created by shoving aside some of the tables and chairs. Other couples danced, some young and some old, and Anders did not stop until they stood in the midst of them.

  “Serah?” Anders asked with a cheeky little grin, holding his hand out. “May I have this dance?”

  “You may,” Fenris replied, taking his hand and then pulling him towards him so that they were almost indecently close. 

  No, Anders thought to himself, they were  _ definitely _ , indecently close. 

  “Oh,” he said, laughing and blushing a little as they swayed together to the music. “And here I thought you were the shy one.”

  “Not shy,” Fenris said with a small smirk, “Just not given to blabbering.”

  “If that is a sleight against me then I will not acknowledge it,” Anders replied, tone imperious.

_ “Yo sigo a su lado, su amor es sagrado. Tengo muy claro del amor el significado…” _

  Fenris’ smirk softened and he leaned forward, perhaps hiding his expression against Anders’ neck. “It was not at all,” he said, voice very quiet. “I would miss it, I think, if it were to ever go away again.”

  Anders continued to move though he felt his breath catch and had to blink moisture away from his eyes. Maker but the things Fenris said could still get to him even now. There were times that Anders thought him the most pig-headed, stubborn, thoughtless man in Thedas and then he would go and say things like that.

  Except that, even during their worst arguments, Anders knew that those thoughts were false. Fenris had learned to bend for him, had learned, slowly but surely, to open up to him. 

  “It won’t of course,” Anders said, and was thankful that no one else was close enough to hear how emotion choked his voice. “So you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “ _ Estoy enamorado… Te lo quiero confesar totalmente ilusionado- _ ”

  “I am very glad for that, Anders.” And even though he could not see it the mage could feel the smile against his skin where Fenris very briefly pressed his lips. 

  Around them other couples moved slowly, almost dreamily, to the music. They tightened their arms around one another, holding on tightly to each other and to the moment. 

  They might have spoken, but neither needed to.. The bond, the love they felt at that moment was silent. And there were no words that could adequately encompass all that they had experienced, the horror and the grief and the passion alike, the journey that they had taken to get to this point.

  In the corner the  _ cantador  _ continued, his voice seeming to swell with emotion as he sang the last few lines. 

_ “Me la paso pensándote. Nunca voy a soltarte...” _

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at laurpas.tumblr.com


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